Six Degrees
by J. E. Talveran
Summary: In the year 9:30, six remarkably different individuals find themselves drafted into a plot to unite Ferelden to stop a looming Blight. *Chapter 21: The Wardens descend into Redcliffe
1. Aeducan: Betrayal

**Title: Six Degrees  
Author: J.E Talveran  
Rating: **M

**Summary: **In the year 9:30, six remarkably different individuals find themselves drafted into a plot to unite Ferelden to stop a looming Blight. An AU version of the game.

**Disclaimers: ***Legal* DA:O does not belong to me whatsoever, but there are original characters and plots that do. There will be slash ahead, of both the male and female sort. There will be no Alistair romancing of any sort in this tale, so if he is a half of your Dragon Age OTP, I'm afraid you'll be disappointed.

**Author's Note: **This idea came about when I saw a wallpaper on DeviantArt combining all the Origin images into one. It was super. It was awesome. It smacked me so hard upside the head with ideas that it pushed all other creative projects to the wayside.

**Aeducan: Betrayal**

The clang of metal against heated metal rang out through the Commons, thundering over the booming voices of merchants hawking their wares. The competition was intense; the recent influx of merchants from the surface caste had set the Orzammar inhabitants on edge. Since the orders from the Assembly were to keep up the act until the return from the Deep Roads later that day, nearly every inch of free space the merchants could scrape together was filled with stocked crates and display racks.

"It seems like the recent Deep Road excursions are helping Orzammar to thrive this season," Gorim's voice was a low rumble that was barely heard over the deafening roar of the Commons. Duran Aeducan's Second shouldered past a servant bearing a pot as he fought to keep up with the Prince amidst the crowd's chaos.

"Every tunnel we clear out means a prospective salvage site for the scavengers and looters." Aeducan nodded to two stout men from the Warrior Caste as side-stepped and saluted when he passed. "It bleeds new life into the city, even as Orzammar returns her sons and daughters to the Stone."

Gorim let out a quick bark of laughter. "Spoken just like Trian."

Aeducan's brow furrowed at the mention of Trian. His youngest brother, Bhelen, had sounded sincere in his worry about Trian's new motivations and back-alley deals, but it was Trian they had discussed. Trian, the heir to the Orzammar throne.

"He fears that the Assembly will favor you when the time comes," Bhelen had whispered, seemingly fearful that the walls of Trian's room had ears to hear the treachery being spoken within them. "I fear Trian will try to kill you, big brother."

At the time, surrounded by the warmth of the Stone and the heirlooms of forefathers past, Duran Aeducan, second son to King Endrin Aeducan, had vehemently called for the slander to stop, telling Bhelen that it was shameful of him to think of their brother as low as at, but surrounded by the bustle of the city, watching the merchants play at undercutting their opponents, the seed of doubt Bhelen had planted was beginning to sprout.

"Sir?"

Aeducan mentally waved away his worries and turned to face Gorim. "Come; let us take a drink in the Tappers, for old time's sake."

"Yes'sir." Gorim nodded and led them to the out of the way tavern that was famed for its discreet policy. It was situated far from the Diamond Quarter's access tunnel, and as such wasn't as guarded as the other taverns on the Common's level. It was a perfect hide-a-way for those who weren't wishing to be found.

The bar's patrons glanced their way once, when the door opening announced the arrival of a new customer, but soon they were deep in their cups and conversations; they were more concerned about their own affairs then the affairs of a couple of warriors grabbing a last drink before the Deep Roads. Gorim found them a table near the back, with both seats offering an excellent view of the entrance and the rest of the establishment. After they settled in, a pretty waitress with hair the color of polished bronze flashed them a smile as she jotted down their orders. Gorim's eyes lingered on her as she sauntered back to the counter.

"When do you think you'll marry?" He asked, his eyes still wandering.

Aeducan rolled his shoulders in an exaggerated shrug. "Probably depends on if one of those two wenches manages to pop out a whelp later this year."

Gorim chuckled, returning his attention to his Prince. "Yes, because that was the hardest conquest you've had yet to date, my Prince."

Aeducan allowed himself a quick and lustful grin as the memory of hands and skin and gasps pleasantly occupied his thoughts for a moment. "It was a good thing I trained for endurance for Proving Matches. They were quite a handful—"

"Two handfuls!" Gorim slapped a hand on Aeducan's shoulder. "Was it just last week you were complaining that the diplomacy lessons your mother had forced upon you were worthless, and yet, look what you accomplished."

Aeducan nodded as the waitress returned with their drinks. He picked his up and raised it in a toast. "To Mother."

"To the Queen, the Stone strengthen her." The two of them drank deep of their cups.

"She was a strong woman." Aeducan said quietly, the mood shifting to a somber realization of what was to come later that day. Gorim stayed silent as Aeducan lamented, knowing that it wasn't his place to comfort the Prince. He watched as the older warrior steadied himself for what could possibly be his last days walking, after all, the Darkspawn were a deadly threat that only grew as the days went on.

Still, his Prince was a son of the Aeducan line, the first defender against the Darkspawn, and to this day the last defender against the Darkspawn. Duran Aeducan knew his duty as Prince, and Gorim knew his as the Prince's Second, so when Aeducan's eyes became as hard as cold steel, Gorim knew it was time to descend into the Deep Roads.

They stood like one unit, and with heavy steps they moved towards the door. The patrons turned to give them a second glance as they were leaving, each one knowing that this might just be the last time either man would be seen again; two more of Orzammar's sons walking towards potential doom so that the rest of them could drink in peace.

*

The walk back across the Commons and to the gaping blackness that signaled the city's access to the Deep Roads that burrowed far beneath the lava and steam of the city was filled with a tension that only grew as the two warriors were saluted by the guards they passed. When the great doors of the city shut behind them, leaving them in only the flickering torchlight of the mine, Gorim found it proper to speak again, even if to just gesture for the way to go. The labyrinthine mine opened up onto a small crossroads where the King and the other commanders were standing and speaking of plans.

"Prince Trian and his men will clear the way for most of the army to descend into the easternmost caverns." Lord Harrowmont was finishing up as Aeducan and Gorim approached. They slowed to a stop as the King turned to his eldest son and clasped a hand over his shoulderguard. "May the Paragons favor you, and the Stone catch you if you fall." His hand lingered a moment, then he stepped back as Trian saluted him, then turned to his own men.

"Come, men, glory awaits!" The Prince bellowed as his Second gave the signal to move out. The cavern was filled with the jangle of plate and mail armor as the contingent of soldiers moved into the inky black of the eastern Deep Roads. As the last of the warriors disappeared, Lord Harrowmont turned to the youngest Prince.

"Bhelen, you and your men will second the king, clearing the main road."

"I will be with you momentarly, my son; Lord Harrowmont and I need to have words with your sibling."

Bhelen nodded, then turned to his older brother and saluted. "Good luck, my brother." He then gestured to his small unit of soldiers and moved off to give the three men their privacy.

Aeducan turned back to Lord Harrowmont as the lord spoke once more. "Your father has a special mission for you."

The King nodded. "Further back in the eastern Deep Roads, there is a secret door carved into the stone. The door leads to a thaig abandoned long ago by your ancestors. The Darkspawn have made it impossible to reach." He paused a moment. "Inside, the Shield of our house still rests. If you reclaim it, my son, glory will be yours."

Aeducan slowly bowed his head in agreement, not sure why this task wasn't falling to the House Heir, but he had never had reason before to question his father. "The Shield of Aeducan would be quite the find," he finally said, opting for the diplomatic route.

Lord Harrowmont pointed to where the Prince and Gorim were to head. "We've sent two scouts ahead to make sure the tunnels are clear, but be careful. One of the scouts will meet you at the first crossroads you come to; the second will be further in. When you get to the thaig's door, use your signet ring to open it. Questions?"

It was a task suited for a child, but Aeducan shook his head. "Find the door, grab the shield. Got it."

Lord Harrowmont gave him an appraising look, but shook it off. "Very good. The crossroads where you meet the first scout will be the rendezvous point. There, you can present the shield to the lords and demonstrate the strength of Aeducan!"

King Endrin once more rested his hand upon the shoulder of a son he was sending into battle. "May the ancestors watch over you, my child."

Aeducan bowed his head once more. He stepped back beside Gorim and offered a formal salute before turning on a heel to make for the tunnel pointed out. They passed by Bhelen, who didn't look up to catch his brother's eye one last time.

*

The retrieval of the Shield had been relatively simple. Frandlin Ivo had been uncharacteristically nervous, nothing like how the man had been painted out to be from what Lord Harrowmont's assessment of him a few days prior. Briefly, Aeducan had wondered if the young warrior was still shy after being granted the Proving Helm, but the lad's nerves didn't seem to falter in the presence of the Darkspawn. Whoever Lord Harrowmont had sent out to clear the tunnels had done a terrible job as each twist in the maze only brought more screams and guttural war cries as genloks rushed the warriors.

The thaig's door had been wide open when they finally reached it. Gorim began to rumble something about Bhelen's theory being correct, but Aeducan's glare had killed the comment before it was even issued. When the mercenary's leader hand fell open to reveal Trian's signet ring, though, Aeducan could only swallow the bile that swelled in his throat and tighten his grip on his sword.

"We will deal with this when we return." He said as explanation to Gorim as they stepped over the dead. Though Aeducan had never been here before, he felt drawn to one door in particular, back in the shadows, nearly blocked off by a rock fall. His sword and shield were set against the wall as he turned back to shove away some of the debris. His mail armor was slick with the gore of the battles fought to reach this door and the wetness caused his gauntlets to slip over some of the smoother rocks. Still, he pushed and heaved through the crumbling stone until there was enough space for a full-sized dwarf to slip inside.

"Here."

He collected his gear before he ducked inside and the coolness of the tomb, for that's what it seemed to be, was a relief from the blazing heat of the Deep Roads. Soft white light emanated from crystals embedded in the tomb's wall, giving the place a quiet, serene feeling. His footfalls echoed through the space as he approached the central sarcophagus. With a long intake of breath, he pressed the signet ring against the indentation on the stone.

Nothing.

Aeducan pushed down the sudden urge to slump in defeat. The mercenaries had ample time to loot the thaig; they had caught them in the middle of tugging sacks out of one of the buildings. The rock fall could have been an attempt to cover up their tracks. Still, the place looked like it hadn't seen a living soul in ages.

"Check around, see if there's anything we missed!" He barked out the order even as he ran his hand over the edge of the sarcophagus, searching for a latch, or a switch, or anything to release the seal.

Ivo moved around his right, while the nameless scout went to the left. Both were sliding their hands over the walls, the pillars, even casting their feet experimentally along the floor. They met at the far wall then shook their heads. "Nothing, sir."

Gorim walked up to reach Aeducan's side. He stepped up onto the raised dais that the sarcophagus was on.

"Wait!" Aeducan spun around, looking directly at Gorim. "What did you just do?"

Gorim blinked. "Nothing, my lord. I was approaching to see if I could offer fresh eyes."

Aeducan waved off the words, critically studying his Second. He had heard something give, he was sure of it. "Whatever you just did, do it again—"

"—but my lord…"

"Do it, Gorim!"

Gorim hastily stepped back and Aeducan could hear a soft sigh of air. He watched as a panel below Gorim's feet slowly rose back to become level with the dais. He allowed himself a quick smile of victory, and then pointed to the scout and Ivo. "You, and you! Come here." He directed them to two other suddenly visible differences in the stone tiles on the dais. "There, Ivo. And you, Scout, stand here."

As each of the men stepped where Aeducan directed, the warrior could hear the subtle shift of something falling into place. Then, he nodded to Gorim to replace his footing. With the third tile pressed, the slide of a catch was audible to all of them. Aeducan returned to the sarcophagus and pressed the ring once more into the indentation. This time, it was able to be twisted, and with the movement, the lid slid back to reveal the dusty, but still intact Shield of House Aeducan.

Aeducan reached in with reverent hands and plucked the treasure from its place. The shield was pitted, and scarred from countless Darkspawn attacks, but the intricate rune that was the symbol of House Aeducan was still visible. It was a kite shield, and from a glance looked to be made of simple steel.

"That's it. We've got it!" Gorim sounded incredulous, and Aeducan had to agree with his sentiment as he studied the massive shield.

"It doesn't look like much."

Ivo nodded, agreeing to the Scout's thoughts. "The skill of our crafters has come far since then. But still … the Shield of Aeducan."

Aeducan knelt and wrapped the shield in a length of cloth he had brought along. "The strength of the Paragon is in this shield."

"I can feel it. It's … inspirational."

"If you say so. It's just a shield." The scout scoffed. The three men, each of a noble house, just exchanged a knowing look. A Common-blood would never understand what it meant.

"Enough talk." Aeducan picked up the wrapped bundle and directed his gaze to the scout. "Where is the rendezvous point?"

"Back in the direction we came from, at the crossroads.

"To the crossroads, then."

Water was dripping onto rock somewhere in the distance. The sound bounced off the walls of the tunnel they were in, disorientating in it's echo. The scout had taken point, and so far, had managed to avoid any Darkspawn patrols that might have been in the area. Aeducan was grateful for the guide, he felt like they were walking in circles, everything looked the same. He glanced over as Gorim matched his pace.

"If Train were really scheming against us, this would be the perfect place for an ambush. We've got the shield," he pointed to the bundle tucked underneath Aeducan's own shield, "and we're all alone out here."

Aeducan frowned. "Keep your wits about you then."

"Of course." Gorim nodded and fell back to take the rear once more.

"What's that you're muttering about?" The scout tossed the question over a shoulder, more concerned with tracking their progress.

"Keep your mind on the mission." Aeducan snapped. The scout agreed right away, but it did little to please the Prince. Something was brewing, whether it was a betrayal by Trian or something else.

The crossroads were reached without incident; the floor littered with the bodies of the dwarves they had passed before, and the still cooling remains of the several genloks that had managed to sneak through the purge. Aeducan blew out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. The mission was done, and he'd be praised by the Assembly and his father—

"By the Stone, it's Trian!" Gorim's shout snapped his attention back to the bodies in the shaft of light from a crystal far above in the ceiling. His Second moved as quickly as Aeducan did to reach the fallen body. Aeducan pushed the body over, hoping that Gorim's excellent eye for detail was wrong.

Trian's face looked almost peaceful, like he was sleeping. If not for the blood caked over his armor, Aeducan would have expected his eyes to open.

Ivo inched up next to the two warriors. "It … it must have been a darkspawn attack." He stepped aside as the scout approached. Aeducan watched on as the scout inspected Trian's body.

"This doesn't look like darkspawn. No bites, no scratches, no mutilation …"

The cold, sinking truth splashed over Aeducan and struck down to the core of his being. "Bhelen outplayed me." There was no rancor, no bitterness in the revelation; only the quiet realization of what he had failed to catch. A failure that had killed one brother, and marked him as the next target.

Ivo glance dup quickly. "Your brother?"

"Someone's coming!" Gorim pointed to the far entrance. Sure enough, the clank of armor and steel reverberated through the chamber. Within moments, the four were surrounded by the King's guard, Bhelen, and Lord Harrowmont's escorts.

The King's eye fell upon Trian's corpse and he let out a low moan as he rushed to his son's side. Aeducan stepped back, his gut twisted and knotted as his father's gaze locked onto his own. "My son," his voice was hoarse, the voice of a broken man. "My son. Tell me this isn't what it looks like."

"We … we just got here a moment ago." Aeducan whispered, feeling young and helpless again as his father pinned him with a hollow, empty gaze.

"Just long enough to slay Trian!" Bhelen yelled, rushing forward to shove against Aeducan hard. Gorim was at his side in an instant, shield raised in defense.

"My lord is innocent!"

"Ser Gorim!" Lord Harrowmont shouted. When neither man seemed ready to back down, his pushed between them, giving Bhelen a stern look before facing the Second. "Ser Gorim, your loyalty makes you a useless witness. It falls to others to tell the story. You," he gestured for the scout to step forward. "What happened here?"

"Trian and his men were here early. It seems they'd down battle with the darkspawn. Lord Aeducan came up to them, all friendly-like, but when we got close, he ordered us to attack!"

"You dare let this man question my honor?" Aeducan found a sliver of outrage to cling to, and it strengthened him enough to glare down at Lord Harrowmont, daring him to answer.

One of the lesser lords, Meino, answered instead. "It …is a valid question. The man is low-born and could be easily bought." He gestured to Ivo. "Frandlin Ivo, you are a good and noble man. Did the scout speak the truth?"

Ivo did not meet Aeducan's gaze as he stepped forward. His head was downcast, his hands clenched tightly to his sides. "He … he did, my lord. It was … terrible." He looked up, finally, and Aeducan knew that his own fate was sealed. "Prince Trian didn't stand a chance."

"You treacherous bastard!"

"Silence, Gorim." The king said, his voice low and terrible. His gaze had never left Aeducan's face. "Do you have anything else to say, my son?"

Aeducan shook his head. "How can you not see that this is a setup?" His gaze finally flicked to Bhelen.

The King followed his glance and shook his head tiredly. "I want to believe that, I really do." He smoothed a hand down Trian's face.

Lord Harrowmont signaled for the guards. "Bind him. He will be judged before the Assembly. To Orzammar!"

*

Time seemed fluid as Aeducan waited in the pits of the Orzammar dungeons. At one moment, it felt like years had passed since they had tossed him in, at other moments; it seemed like mere seconds since the guard last patrolled through. The other cell had seemed empty, until a pile of rags shifted and a dark head of hair poked out to glare at him as the one of many guard patrols went by.

The glare, the brand over the forehead and cheek, the pattern of bruising along the chin and jaw, all of it was known to Aeducan.

"If you were desperate to slum with the casteless, noble, you'd have had better luck in Dust Town." He even knew the voice, the accusation and bitterness a unique blend that couldn't be misheard, even muffled under a helmet.

"You're that Casteless who undermined the Provings last week." Aeducan shifted in his cell to get a better look.

"Well, looks like you're a smart one, doesn't it?" The girl spat, her eyes filled with fire. "Yeah, I kicked the sorry ass of each and every one of those so-called Warriors you lot threw at me. Maybe even taught them some new tricks and the crowd loved me!" She sneered, looking down the hall to the barred door. "What do I get in return? A lifetime in this hellhole."

"You dishonored the ancestors with your actions—"

"Bullshit, I gave them a ruddy good time, that's what I did. All you nobles think about is the color of your blood while the rest of us suffer because maybe sometime in the past there was a dwarf who told your grandpappy where to shove his sword."

" –but you fought with great skill for one unprofessionally trained." Aeducan finished, pretending not to have heard her interruption. The compliment seemed to faze her and the cells went silent again. When Aeducan opened his mouth to ask a new question, the door at the end of the hall opened. Footsteps approached, and Gorim's face was a sight for sore eyes. The casteless girl was forgotten for the moment he and his second clasped arms.

"I … I would have come sooner had they allowed it. How are you?" Gorim looked worn down, defeated. The weight of something terrible was pressing deep into his shoulders, Aeducan could tell.

"Why has the Assembly not sent for me yet?" Aeducan asked, fearing that he knew the answer.

"The Assembly isn't going to call for you." Gorim said, taking a step back from the bars. His face contorted with anger. "Bhelen has taken Trian's place in the Assembly. He introduced a motion to condemn you immediately, and it easily passed. He… had fully half the Assembly ready to vote on something completely against tradition and justice!" Gorim shook his head, unbelievingly. "He must have been making deals and alliances for months, if not years.

Aeducan offered his Second a bitter smile. "You have to respect Bhelen's ability to play the game."

Gorim looked as if he wanted to snap something nasty, but nodded, the fight leaving him. "He's more clever that either of us ever thought." He pushed a hand through his short-cropped hair. "Some of the lords, especially Harrowmont, are suspicious of Bhelen's instant rise to power; they are rallying, but far too slowly. The Assembly has already sentenced both of us."

Aeducan swallowed hard, then tried to keep his voice conversationally-polite. "What's going to happen to you?"

"My knighthood will be stripped, my name torn from my family's records … but I will be allowed to attempt some sort of life on the surface. Lord Harrowmont moved for a similar exile for you, but Bhelen's supporters overwhelmed him. You're …" Gorim trailed off, choking on the words. "You're to be sealed in the Deep Roads to fight darkspawn until you are overwhelmed and killed."

Aeducan stepped back from the bars, shaken. It took him several moments to come up with the ability to speak again. "What does my father say about this?"

"Lord Harrowmont says that the king has taken ill. He couldn't bear losing two of his children at once. He also allowed me here to say this …" Gorim leaned in, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "Where they are exiling you … there is a way up to the surface. The darkspawn must crawl out somehow, and we know it isn't through Orzammar's gates. He believes that if you find it, you could also escape to the surface, make a new life for yourself." He leaned back.

"Only darkspawn between me and freedom?" Aeducan shrugged, "how hard could that be?"

Gorim chuckled, and for a second, it was just like before the betrayal. "Bhelen underestimated you. Much as we underestimated him. I begged to go with you and fight at your side, but Bhelen's pet nobles wouldn't hear of it."

"I wish you were going to be at my side as well."

Gorim nodded slowly, and once against clasped arms with Aeducan. "I'm going to try to go to Denerim, the human capital. If you make it out … find me."

"Goodbye, Gorim." Aeducan bowed his head. He watched as Gorim nodded to the guard to be led out and then as the door bang shut.

"So … in death high and low born are alike." The casteless girl's voice crept through the dungeon again, only this time it was without malice. "Seems like my ability to fight granted me the same honor as they're granting you, friend."

Aeducan flicked his attention her way for a moment. "I suppose so. Consider it an honor then."

"Heh. What do I know about honor?" She snorted.

Aeducan looked her way fully. She was against the bars of her own cage, watching him much like one of the wolves he had seen up on the surface long ago. Her gaze burned into his own; her spirit was an aura that clung about her. If she had not bore the brands of the Casteless, he would have figured her for a Warrior. Then again, what right did he have to judge her standing amongst the Dwarva now that he was to be exiled?

"What is your name, girl?"

"Piss off."

"That sounds like no House I have ever heard of, and my history lessons were long on the linage of houses."

She glared at him. He stared back, passively. Her eyes narrowed and she tugged her lower lip inbetween her teeth. He coughed.

"Brosca." She finally answered, looking away. "It's Brosca."

"I am Duran." He offered her an incline of the head. "You said you are also to be fated to the Deep Roads?"

"Yeah."

"Perhaps we can work something out then …" He gestured for her to lean in as close as the bars would allow her and then repeated what Gorim had said to him. After her eyes lit up at the slim chance of escape, the two spent the remaining time they had left planning their own salvation.


	2. Brosca: Darkness

**Title: Six Degrees  
Author: J.E Talveran  
Rating: **M

**Summary: **In the year 9:30, six remarkably different individuals find themselves drafted into a plot to unite Ferelden to stop a looming Blight. An AU version of the game.

**Disclaimers: ***Legal* DA:O does not belong to me whatsoever, but there are original characters and plots that do. There will be slash ahead, of both the male and female sort. There will be no Alistair romancing of any sort in this tale, so if he is a half of your Dragon Age OTP, I'm afraid you'll be disappointed.

**Author's Note: **Every chapter will follow a different Origin's viewpoint in alphabetical order. Aeducan was first (as a Prince should be!), followed by this one, Brosca. Cousland is next, then Mahariel, Surana, and finally Tabris, then back to our dear Prince. The length of the story is already penned out, as is how each chapter flows into the next one. I do hope people enjoy this as much as I'm enjoying writing it.

**Brosca: Darkness**

Natia Brosca owed the golden-haired noble her life and she hated that fact. If he had not found himself so unlucky enough to be cast into the dungeons alongside her, thus heightening security and making the guards almost impossible to bribe; she would have been taken to the Carta's cells deep within Jarvia's hideout and probably killed within a day or two, after Beraht's men had taken their fun with her.

So, when the steel-eyed Dwarva leaned in close, whispering of the potential to escape it all, Brosca had seized the opportunity without hesitation. Even if it was a fool's dream, and the two of them were to end up broken and mauled on the unforgiving Stone, at least she would have the last laugh.

Rica was safe enough, now that a patron had claimed her, and Mother, the Stone suffocate her, would be taken care of. Leske had scampered away during the chaos of the Proving, and she knew that Beraht didn't really want his head at any rate; he was too good a thief for the Warrior Caste to toss away. So, really, in the end, this was a decent break for her, and if they managed to defy every single odd out there and crawl out into the endless sky of the surface world, then she could start anew, maybe even build her own Carta just to shove it in Beraht's face.

The two of them had spent the waning hours of the early morning discussing what they could do once they were locked within the expanse of the Deep Roads outskirts. The noble's lackey hadn't really delivered exactly where their salvation was located, but he had offered a good point: it was a known fact that the darkspawn were lurking throughout the Frostback mountains near Orzammar and if they weren't sneaking out through the Hall of Heroes when the guards were too busy chasing their own tails, then there must be another way out. The planning ended only when the door opened and the contingent of guards marched in behind a lesser noble who read them a final blessing from the Stone before they were shackled and dragged down to the lowest levels of Orzammar, even below Dust Town's little ledge over the lava rivers.

To Brosca, the lord said nothing. She was casteless, and though she would die fighting the darkspawn, she was already forgotten by the Memories. Well, fuck them. She didn't need a lord's simpering speech about how she'd redeem herself in death or whatever bullshit they'd craft up.

For the golden-haired Duran, though, the guards unshackled him and allowed him to stand strong against the elderly Lord Harrowmont. "Here is the prisoner," they said, before stepping back.

Lord Harrowmont, his face marked with stress lines, studied her newfound companion with a familiar regret. "Having been found guilty of fratricide by the Assembly of Orzammar, you are hereby sentenced to exile and death. Your name is, from this point forward, stripped from the records. You are no longer a person, nor a memory."

Ouch, Brosca winced.

"You are to be cast into the Deep Roads with only sword and shield, there to redeem your life by fighting the enemies of Orzammar until your death. Do you have anything to say before the sentence is carried out?"

Duran nodded. "Bhelen will destroy you, just as he did me."

"I understand your anger. You should have been allowed to defend yourself. Had I the power to stop this, I would have." Lord Harrowmont stepped forward, almost a hand's width from Duran's body. "Look me in the eye and tell me you didn't do this. For your father's sake."

"I didn't kill Trian."

Brosca's eyes widened. She knew that name, even if Bhelen's was just a niggling jostle in the back of her mind. Anyone who breathed in Orzammar smoke knew the name of the king's heir. That meant … she stared, open-mouthed at the back of Duran Aeducan's head as Lord Harrowmont let out a sigh of relief.

"I believe you. That means Bhelen planned this from the start. Believe me; I will spend the rest of my days making sure Bhelen does not profit by his deeds. Your father… asked me to give these to you." The lord said, and a guard walked up bearing a sword and a shield. "These are of fine dwarven make. Strike a blow at our enemies."

Duran— no, Aeducan, for it was not right for a Prince to be thought off so informally by a casteless girl, took the offered weapon and the shield and slung them onto his back. He secured the sword in the sheath hidden by the shield, and then glanced to Lord Harrowmont. "How is my father?"

"He … is old and this tragedy has hit him hard. He will rest better now, though, knowing the truth."

"Tell him … tell my father I went to a warrior's death." Aeducan stepped back, then, and just like that, their time in the comfort of the Stone was ending. The guards were already pushing her forward, the rest of them pulling open the great gates that blocked the Deep Roads. Panic rose in her throat as she realized that this was real, that there was a chance she'd die in that dark and damp place. She almost struggled, if not for the stoic figure of Aeducan, standing there like it was a calm day in the Commons.

"Let the condemned walk through." Lord Harrowmont ordered, signaling for Brosca to be unshackled. He stepped aside as she was nudged forward and she swore she saw a flicker of pity in the old man's eyes before she and Aeducan stepped through the threshold.

The gates shut behind them, a ringing boom that thundered down the stretch of road and throughout her body. Her eyes struggled to adjust in the poor lighting, the crystals long past their prime. She heard Aeducan move alongside her, and she tried to track his silhouette as he took the first steps away from the gate.

"So … Prince Aeducan, eh?" She said; just to chase away the silence creeping up on them. She couldn't make out the nuances of his expression, but the grunt and shrug of massive shoulders was enough of a reaction for her to press on with the conversation. "I guess that explains why everyone we passed seemed to know you so well, from the rumbles around Dust Town, the Assembly idolized you."

"This is a curious way to show their favor, then." Aeducan gruffed. He knelt down to scrape his hands along the rubble on the road-side then straightened up with a grunt. "I saw you in the Proving with a sword and shield, how are you with daggers?"

"I was born with a dagger in my hand; Mum always said that when she was sober enough to regret that she put me and my sister through hell." Brosca rubbed her hands over the grimy tunic the guards had given her.

"You'll need that talent when the darkspawn attack." He offered out his hand in the gloom and she saw the outline of a dagger. Smaller and less balanced than she was used to, but it was better than simply using tooth and nail against the rampaging horde that was rumored to roam the Deep Roads.

"You think they'll find us?" Brosca asked, tucked the dagger through her belt.

"They always do." Aeducan cast his gaze down the stretch of road. "Maybe they can sense us, or their senses have adapted to the dark of the Deep Roads. Whatever the case, they will strike, and if we want to live out the night, we need to be ready."

"Right."

The two dwarves set out down the road, the soft padding of their leather boots creating just enough noise to play tricks on Brosca's mind. The fourth time she cast a wary glare over her shoulder, her dagger out and clenched tightly in her had, Aeducan had noticed.

"Listen to the cadence of our steps. One-two, one-two. That rhythm, so long as it doesn't change, means that we're alone." He gently grasped her arm and forced her to keep walking, deliberately stepping louder until the beat stuck in her mind. "When it changes, that's when you prepare yourself for ambush. If you keep tensing up like that all the time, you'll be too unfocused when actual battle arrives."

Normally, that little speech would prompt a telling off from Brosca, but she had never ventured past the western expanse of the Commons and her heart was beating hard enough that she was sure it was going to leap out of her throat. For all of her bravado back in Dust Town, she felt like she was six years old all over again.

She nodded and gestured silently that he could let go now. He did so, and soon enough the silence grew between them once again.

Somewhere in the distance, obscured by shadow and cavern walls, a creature howled, a long, chilling sound that halted their steps. Brosca exchanged a look in the darkness with Aeducan and the Prince slowed his pace so he walked side-by-side with her.

"How did you come to be in the Proving?" He asked, the question an obvious attempt to tear their thoughts from whatever had made the howl, and if it was coming towards them or not. The cadence of their step was a background comfort to the hushed whisper of their voices.

"I worked for a brutish thug of the Warrior Caste. He controlled one of the stronger Carta's in the city, it practically controlled all of Dust Town." Brosca brushed her hand over her dagger's hilt, using the metal to give her a focus point. "He had placed bets on Evred, had a lot of sovereigns on him; I don't know how much, but it was enough that the job was either going to get completed one way or another, or I'd end up dead in the gutter." She shrugged. "We were supposed to drug one of his opponents, but the damned fool was dead drunk by the time we entered his room. So, wanting to save my life, I donned the armor and kicked ass."

"Until the Ancestors revealed you."

"Ancestors didn't do shit, Evred just woke up too early. I told Leske to bind him up, but that's what happens when you don't do everything yourself." Brosca kicked at a loose rock. "But whatever, past is the past and at least I'm not servicing Beraht's men up until they slit my throat."

"This is preferable?"

"I don't think the darkspawn are interested in girl-flesh, if you get my drift." She flicked another glance his way. "So …did you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Kill your brother?"

"No." Aeducan sped up again, forcing her to quicken her own steps to keep pace with him.

"Oh come on, I thought that was how the game was played with you high-born. You kill here, bribe there, and smile all the while as you cut throats to reach the top."

"Family is off-limits. Trian was a traditionalist, but I respected my brother. Political maneuvering is one thing, murder is another." He looked down at her. "I don't expect a casteless to understand."

"So, this Bhelen did him in then?" Brosca pressed, her teeth gritted as she fought to not snap at his slight against her.

"Yes. I don't know how, but yes. Bhelen killed two nugs with one stone."

"Family dinners must have been fun." She quipped dryly then gave their surroundings a better look. "So... Exit from Deep Roads is … where?"

"Probably where the largest gathering of darkspawn are in this section of the tunnels." Aeducan stopped, also studying their options. "They wouldn't leave a passage to the surface abandoned."

"So, we just ask nicely, maybe offer up a mug of ale or two, and they let us pass with cheery smiles?"

"You fall back on humor too much. If you want to be taken seriously, then you have to act serious."

"Yeah? By who, you?" She snorted. "Last I saw, your Highness, you were a lowly exile just like me. No, we're not even exiles, we're not even memories. If we were lucky, we'd be able to meet up with the Legion of the Dead and maybe last out another week, maybe two. Instead, we're going to bumble through the dark to find a hole in the Stone that's guarded by darkspawn who want to eat us!"

"You've got a better idea?"

"Of course I don't have a better idea!" She practically shouted, flinging her arms up. "I just … this isn't how I'm supposed to die, you know?"

"You figured out how you were going to die?" Her eyes were adjusted enough to the lighting now to see his eyebrow arched high.

"No." She slumped, suddenly drained. "I just … don't want to die here."

"Then don't. It's that simple." Aeducan glanced around once more and then touched her shoulder. "I think I see a small nook we can use to get some rest. We've been up since yesterday and when we do make our escape, we'll need both of us at full strength."

She followed him behind the broken bodies of ancient pillars. "When?" She asked, her voice soft and unsure.

She could hear the smile in his voice when he answered. "When."

*

Each of them had taken watch twice. Without any form of time-keeping, neither of them knew how many hours had passed. Brosca had kept her own watch to the reciting of all the poems her sister had told her over the many years they had shared a small bed in a cramped room. The memory of her sister was enough to keep despair from eating her, and she figured that her method was working, for when Aeducan awoke the second time; he looked much more awake and focused than when they had first walked through the gate.

She felt better herself, and when they moved back onto the road proper, the prospect of fighting through the darkspawn still scared her, but without the slight twinge of hysteria from lack of sleep, it seemed like their best chance. And, she had to admit to herself, the Prince seemed to know what he was doing, and that was more than what she was doing at the moment.

"Wish they'd at least had offered a last meal before shoving us off," she grumbled right after her stomach gave a protesting growl of hunger.

"I think you're complaining just to complain." Aeducan chuckled, stopped in front of a shattered wall. The tunnel the break led into was even darker than the Deep Road they were on, but as they stood and listened in the dark, the occasional howl of a darkspawn echoed through that tunnel and not the larger Road.

"Shut up." Brosca said, but her words lacked venom. She looked between him and the tunnel he was considering. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"True." With that, Aeducan donned his shield and pulled the sword from its sheath. He squared his shoulders, and marched into the blackness. Brosca hopped in after him.

*

She'd never forget her first encounter with the darkspawn known as a genlock. The relative peace of their earlier travel through the Deep Roads had been shattered when they had exited a last in a countless series of side-tunnels and stumbled straight into what seemed to be a patrol. The genlocks had reacted first, roaring and chattering in a guttural language that sounded too much like a mockery of the Dwarva trade tongue.

Aeducan ordered for her to take cover as he lifted his shield to take the first of the blows. Brosca responded to the order without too much question, dropping to a crouch and slipping under the shadow of a rotted-away ballista. She watched on in terror as Aeducan slammed the first genlock to the side and then drove his sword deep into the belly of a second. He twisted, ripping the sword out to swipe at a third, forcing it to leap back and consider another attack option.

The whistle announced the arrow's flight right before it bounced off the shield. Brosca turned to see a smaller, more nimble genlock nock another arrow and take aim again.

"Kill the archer!" Aeducan's second order came out as calmly as if he was ordering ale. He used his shield to uppercut a darker genlock trying to duck under his guard and shifted position to keep his shield towards the archer's standpoint. "I can't fight well enough if I'm dodging arrows!"

Brosca snapped out of her staring spell and scrambled to her feet, pulling her dagger into her hand and pausing in her movements to pick up the dagger that the fallen genlock had dropped. It was a crude weapon, worse off than the first dagger, but it was a weapon. The archer fired twice more, not having noticed her yet, and Brosca counted the seconds between shots from a new hiding spot. Five seconds. That was all the time she had to slit it's throat before it could drive an arrow into her.

The archer fired a fourth time, and the resulting scream revealed that the target hit was not the target aimed at, and Brosca took her chance. She pushed herself up into a sprint, silent as she rushed across the small gap separating them. It was nocking the fifth arrow when it noticed her. The string was pulled back as she lifted her sword with a warcry. It's wild, dead white eyes bored into hers as she drove her daggers deep into it's chest. Black blood splattered on her face as she ripped the daggers out and slammed them home again. It dropped the bow, the instrument clattering loudly on the stone as it scrambled to grab her.

The ground was slick with blood and Brosca caught herself from slipping twice as she grappled with the genlock. It was only an inch or so taller than her, but it was made of pure muscle and rage and when it pulled at her, even in a weakened state, it took every ounce of self-training the rogue had to not lose her advantage. With a final yell, she managed to wrest her wrist from it's hold and slit the blade across the beast's throat, finishing the job.

Behind her, the sounds of continued battle went on, even as her first true kill slumped down to the floor with a last gurgle. Brosca closed her eyes briefly against the sight and then whirled to help Aeducan fend off his opponents. She kicked the closest one in the back of the knee, grinning as the blow forced the creature to the ground, howling in pain. Aeducan worked from her cue and Brosca watched in quiet admiration as the head rolled off into the gloom of the Deep Roads. The final genlock was treated to an evisceration.

"Those were …"

Aeducan knelt to wipe the darkspawn ichor from his blade on the cleanest part of the genlock nearest to him. Satisfied, he sheathed the blade once more and slung the shield on his back before approaching her. "These ones are called Genlocks. The scholars believe they're the twisted version of dwarva."

Brosca eyed the cooling corpses with barely-disguised horror. "Dwarva? They're dwarva?"

"No one knows for sure, but that's what the tales say." He offered a hand out for her weapons. "Here, clean the blades." She allowed him to take the weapons, her attention still on the genlocks. "There are your first darkspawn, I take it. I had that same expression myself, when I first saw them a couple of years ago." He repeated the swiping over the cleanest part of a genlock for her blades, then handed them back.

"They're horrible." She murmured, taking back the cleaned blades.

"Yes." He agreed, watching her. She shifted uncomfortably underneath his unwavering gaze. She slipped both daggers through the belt of the tunic, wrinkling her nose as the smell of darkspawn blood hit her. She cast about for anything to change into, but all around them was death and darkspawn.

Aeducan only raised a brow as she finally caught him in a stare down. She knew she looked a mess, much as he did. Their tunics were beyond saving, the ichor already beginning to crust and dry in the threads of the fabric. If she scrunched her nose, she could feel the blood crack along her skin. Her hair weighed her down, she could feel her ponytail plastered against the back of her neck.

"We'll wash when we reach the surface." Aeducan announced before she could get out a comment about their appearance. He grunted and side-stepped past her, walking back along the way the genlocks had approached from.

"Why that way?"

He stopped, peering down the way then shrugged. "If I'm wrong, then we'll come back and go the other way. It's not like we're on a schedule." He beckoned to her as he resumed walking.

*

Brosca was of two minds when they stopped for a rest. On the upside, they were resting, and her legs were finally given the respite they so needed. On the downside, they had found the exit and Aeducan had been correct when he had theorized it would be swarmed with darkspawn.

Brosca pressed tight against the rock as she peered down the incline towards the horde. There were the genlocks, the stout fiends scurrying throughout the mass like rats. Then there were tall, human-like ones that snapped jaws at one another and drooled viscous spittle that smelled rank even from the distance they were at. Then, there were the giants that lorded over the rest of the army, large brutish beasts that struck at a primal chord of fear within her breast.

She felt, rather than saw, Aeducan tense for a charge alongside her, and slapped her hand quickly on his shoulder. "We'd die before we left this rock."

Aeducan grumbled a dissenting curse, but leaned back, agreeing to her better judgment. They were too close to their freedom to lose it all now. "What do you propose we do?"

Shuffling movement at the corner of her vision delayed her response as she inched further over the rock for a better look. Moving like the dead, a line of dwarves, actual dwarves, shuffled towards the surface. They seemed to be carrying extra weapons, and suits of crudely-stitched leathers as genlocks snarled at their backs. She could see nothing of the darkspawn in them, save for the odor rising from them and a vacant, dead look.

She wiggled slowly back down behind the rock and gave Aeducan a thorough look-over. "We're going to just walk out of here."

"We're going to what?"

"Trust me." She scooted to the left, craning her neck to see where the line of dwarven slaves started. A bit further back, there seemed to be a forge, where a human bearing the same expression of the dwarves slowly pounded away at a piece of red-hot metal. Just beyond him, a genlock shoved the armor and weapons into the slaves' hands. Brosca took a breath, said a blessing to the Ancestors, and then stood up and shuffled directly towards the genlock. She plucked her daggers from her belt and held them much like the others were. She heard Aeducan come up behind her, and he bore his weapon and shield much like she did. His gaze was lowered, but he nodded for her to take the initiative. This was her show.

It was also likely to get them both killed but she figured they'd last longer this way.

Brosca slipped into the line returning from the surface, keeping her gaze lowered as she approached the genlock. The stench of the darkspawn burned through her nose and her stomach twisted up in disgust. She thought she'd break and gag, but she held her breath as the genlock turned to her next.

The bundle of rapidly-cooling swords he shoved onto her made her step backwards quickly to regain balance and she was snarled at to move. The darkspawn turned to Aeducan and with a chomp of it's jaw, placed a load of armor in his outstretched hands.

They passed the milling darkspawn. The taller ones were paler than the genlocks, their skin looking corpse-like. Their jaws had no lips, and this close, Brosca could feel the sick heat of their breath as they pushed and shoved against each other. She couldn't see any of the giants, they had been further back within the horde, but the ground shuddered when they moved. Up the tunnel they marched, crowded and cramped by the Stone until the ceiling gave away to utter emptiness.

A cold gust of air sliced through her clothes as easily as if she had been naked, cutting down to the bone with its chill. The ever-present glow of the crystals gave way to a red light that burned from countless fires crackling throughout the area just outside the tunnel. Smoke and death filled the air.

Brosca dared a glance up through filthy bangs and first saw the sky. She reeled, vertigo swooping up on her, and dropped to a knee. She became a stone for the river of slaves to part around. None of them stopped. Her bundle of swords clattered to the mountain rock below and she slammed her hands down against the ground, begging the Stone to give her the support she'd need.

Aeducan stopped at her side. "We need to move. It looks like they care not for what the… Dwarva are doing. And more of these …mindless slaves are approaching. Even from lower on the mountain side. If we want to escape, you will have to worry about falling into the sky later."

Brosca couldn't even lift her head; she pressed her cheek against the cold ground. "How are you so calm. I can't even … it's going to …"

Aeducan tossed his armor to a dwarf behind him and knelt to scoop her up. She let out a keening whimper and curled into his chest, burying her face from the sight of the flames leaping upward into nowhere. She wanted to forget everything.

*

Her senses came back to her with the snap and crackle of a fire. She wasn't being carried anymore, no. Her body was in full-contact with solid stone and there even was a ledge over her head that blocked out the horrible sky. She tilted her head to stare out the mouth of the cave, confused at the blaring light that seemed to come from everywhere. It washed out all colors, and the longer she stared out at it, the more her eyes hurt. She squinted and turned back to the comfort of the stone.

"You fainted."

She lifted her head to make out Aeducan's outline behind the dancing flames. "Where are we?"

"Not far enough to risk another night staying around here. But we do have a destination, and a guide.

"We do?"

Aeducan turned to the cave opening as the crunching of snow announced footsteps. A shadow fell over the couth until a figure stooped down and poked its head in. "We brought supper."

Brosca gaped as a human crawled into the cave, bearing a furry creature that looked like a nug by it's hind legs. Behind him, a larger beast gave off a sharp bark that jolted through her as if it touched her nerves directly. She turned and gave Aeducan a questioning look as the human set the 'dinner' down.

"We came out far to the south, near enough to human civilization that an encounter was bound to happen. Unfortunately, that encounter was a band of bandits and thugs."

"So, what, you befriended them with your noble airs and turned them to servitude?" She sniffed, not daring to give the dark-haired human another look. Someone laughed, but it wasn't Aeducan.

"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Aedan Cousland, and I daresay that I'm in the same spot of trouble that's chasing you."

* * *

Reviews make an author happy!


	3. Cousland: Honorbound

**Title: Six Degrees  
Author: J.E Talveran  
Rating: **M

**Summary: **In the year 9:30, six remarkably different individuals find themselves drafted into a plot to unite Ferelden to stop a looming Blight. An AU version of the game.

**Disclaimers: ***Legal* DA:O does not belong to me whatsoever, but there are original characters and plots that do. There will be slash ahead, of both the male and female sort. There will be no Alistair romancing of any sort in this tale, so if he is a half of your Dragon Age OTP, I'm afraid you'll be disappointed.

**Author's Note: **I apologize for the wait, usually the latter half f the week I get out snippets of writing done between pulls / wipes on raid content in WoW. Of course, this past week, my dearest friend decided she'd give me a nasty head cold and I've just not had the motivation to write with a cough and a raspy throat and a headache that makes a computer screen one's worst enemy. Still, the show must go on, so to speak, and Cousland has waited for his chapter long enough.

This chapter was longer, but the more and more I re-read it, the less I liked the second half entirely; so I tossed it all. We will reach Ostagar in the next chapter (Mahariel's viewpoint) and from there, the chapters will focus more on parts of the game's storyline and move it forward, instead of a three-chapter sprawl to cover leaving Orzammar to entering Redcliffe.

**Cousland: Honorbound**

The Frostback Mountains were painted with long strokes of red and purple as the sun slowly disappeared behind the highest peaks. Aedan Cousland had watched the sun set many times from the ancient Cousland Castle in Highever, but he had to admit: watching the same show while standing on the foothills of the same mountains was just as breathtaking.

He was scrunched up between two outcroppings of rock, using the space as a decent amount of cover while he took his turn at watch. The male dwarf had suggested that they start out once night had fallen, to better give his female companion an easier time to adjust to the sudden sensation of having nothing to protect you from the void above them all now. Cousland didn't understand the irrational fear the two dwarves had concerning the sky; but the thought of being buried under tons of rock wasn't his choice of fun, so he agreed with the time to set out.

It also held the added benefit of being less conspicuous as they traveled. Cousland knew that the Arl's men were watching the southern highway for him. That was how he wound up in the middle of the southern Frostback Mountains in the first place: fleeing from bandits that ambushed him when they picked him out of the caravan he had integrated with. Briefly, his thoughts tinged with concern for the fates of the others, but that quickly faded.

He turned his head and stared out at the tree line, trying to quash the sudden pang of guilt that flooded over him. Right now, he had to worry about surviving long enough to reach Fergus, his brother, and warn him and the king of Arl Howe's treachery. Grief and guilt over who might be harmed in the process of that journey would just have to wait until justice—no, vengeance was done.

There was a rustle in the sparse undergrowth south of him as a large bronze-furred mabari crept out from the shadow of the trees, shaking snow from fur and padding over to stand beside Cousland's outpost.

"Find anything, Sarim?" Cousland pushed himself up to better see the mabari.

Sarim shook his head, letting out a low woof of disappointment as he sat back on his haunches.

"That's a good thing; means that no one's following us." The thought that Sarim might have failed in picking up a scent didn't once cross into his mind. The mabari was one of the finest of his breed, with the training only a Teryn could provide. Hunting, tracking, killing; there wasn't anything that Sarim would falter at. If the mabari couldn't pick up a scent, then there wasn't a scent to be found.

The shadows from the peaks stretched long until they shrouded the small vale the warrior dwarf had chosen for their current camp site. Cousland tilted his head upward to watch the first stars twinkle into existence and then heaved his lanky frame out of the cramped cover and onto open ground. "Time to wake up our newfound allies," he said as he passed by Sarim.

He approached the curved, smooth rock face that hid the cave from a stray glance and poked his head inside. The fire, built close to the entrance as to not choke up the inhabitants inside was dead, even the embers looked cold. The warrior was awake, though, and acknowledged Cousland with a nod of the head.

"The stars are coming out, my friend." Cousland stated by way of greeting. He could feel Sarim ease up alongside of him. "Sarim scouted the nearby woods; I believe we're as safe as we could be in these parts for the moment."

The dwarf nodded once more and leaned over to gently shake his companion awake. "Natia," he said. She awoke at the touch and rolled over to give him a confused look before her eyes widened, then narrowed in comprehension of who he was and where they were. "Time to go."

Cousland backpedaled outside and ran his fingers once through the stiff fur at Sarim's shoulders. While he waited for the dwarves to exit from the shelter, he went over what he could remember of the map training that he and Fergus had gone through when they were younger. They were half a day's walk west of the Gherlen's Pass, and from there, it was several hours by horseback down to the lakeside Redcliffe village, where Fergus was supposed to rendezvous with the forces of Arl Eamon. Cousland frowned, and pulled out his boot dagger, kneeling down to draw out a vague sketch to visualize the route he thought best to take.

If Redcliffe was inaccessible, and Cousland figured that with the call to arms for Ostagar, the Arl, even Bann Teagen, would be away; then they could cut down to the southern river that fed into the western edge of the Hinterlands. There, the forest would be sparse enough to track eastward along the edge of the Kocari Wilds until they met up with the Southern Imperial Highway and finally, Ostagar.

He glanced up to spy Sarim staring down at the map, his head canted to one side in thought. "What say you, Sarim? Sounds easy enough to follow, right?"

Sarim barked excitedly, his stub of a tag wagging.

Cousland laughed and ruffled the dog's ears. "My thoughts exactly. We might have to dodge a few arrows, if there is to be another attempt on my life, it'll be on the road to Redcliffe; but from there? I don't think they'll expect a Cousland to vanish into the Hinterlands and stumble blindly towards Ostagar."

"What's at Redcliffe?" The voice of the warrior dwarf, Aeducan, if he recalled the name correctly, called from the shelter of the rock.

Cousland rocked back on the heels of his feet, lightly bouncing. "Bann Teagen. He's one of the more sensible nobles, and the King's uncle. My brother, Fergus, was supposed to head to Redcliffe, join up with Arl Eamon's forces, and then continue onward to Ostagar."

"He might not be there, then?"

"The Arl? Probably not, no; but Bann Teagen should be, an estate is rarely left without one of the ruling house there. At the very least, we can resupply at the castle. I didn't manage to grab any trinkets or coin as I fled for my life, and neither of you look like you're hiding a pile of sovereigns in those tunics."

Aeducan chuckled, a deep sound that reminded Cousland much of the mountains they were sheltering under. He wondered if all male dwarves had that steel in their words or if it was just this one. "No, they didn't deem it a necessary cost to give us even a few coppers to our names."

"You said you were chased by bandits when Aeducan found you?" The female dwarf appeared beside her male counterpart. Her face was pale in the darkening twilight, and stood out starkly against the dark shock of her hair. "Why not retrace the steps; see if they had any spare coins for chasing you down?"

"You do have a point, my lovely friend."

She scowled at the flattery and said something in her native tongue that sounded dangerously like something one of the female guards once said after a terrible attempt at enticing her to his private rooms. In response, Cousland flashed her a devilish grin and beckoned for them to come see his makeshift map.

They shuffled slowly over to him, neither of the pair even looking higher than they needed to. When they reached his drawing, they hunched down beside him. He pointed out his plan, and then glanced up to them.

"Would you be able to find your way through these Hinterlands?" Brosca frowned, staring at him suspiciously. "If what you're saying is true, and the humans are massing for a war against a darkspawn horde, I don't want to run into the enemy's open arms."

"Barely a day together and you're already tearing away at my pride." Cousland easily shrugged off her concern. "Fergus and I went hunting with Father through them a few summers back. The elk breed stronger and hardier the further south one travels and, well, the bucks of the Hinterlands make for a nice trophy. It's rugged terrain, but if the skies stay clear at night, I can use the Wyvern constellation to keep us eastward; considering nighttime would be easier on you two."

"At least you can pretend that there's a proper ceiling over your head when it's dark," Brosca muttered. "None of that empty blue expanse that pulls at the stomach."

"Also, if the maps are correct, then the river that we'll be following ends nearly directly west from where Ostagar stands; and when we near the ruins, we'll be able to see our destination."

Aeducan had remained quiet during Cousland's directions, and if he was experiencing the same doubts that the roguish Brosca was, he wasn't voicing them. He was giving Cousland the same, appraising look that his father used to cast during a ride through their lands, or during a tournament when the knights from across the Bannorn would compete for favor for their respective lords. It was a look that Cousland never understood, and when it was being directed at him again, he wasn't sure how he wanted to react. He coughed, swiped at the dirt-map with the side of his hand, and then rose to his feet.

"At any rate, we should be moving." He waited for the two to collect what little they seemed to have brought with them outside the Deep Roads, and then sent Sarim ahead to scout as they pushed into the shadow of the trees behind the mabari.

*

Though Brosca had a fair point about retracing the steps to where the bandits had lost their lives in the attempt to take Cousland's own, it was near impossible in the growing dark. Trying to avoid the possibility of breaking his ankle over the uneven ground, and to keep an eye out for any shadows that weren't supposed to be there, Cousland wondered if they should just ignore the dead and just keep moving until they reached the Pass, and proper ground beneath their feet that wasn't going to kill them just for stepping wrong.

Sarim, on the other hand, wasn't as clumsy as the three of them and easily scrambled over the terrain, pressing his nose to the ground, or lifting it high into the air. When he barked, the noise cracked through the stillness of the air.

Sure enough, when the three stood at the dog's side, they could see the results of an impromptu battlefield just through the brush. The bandits still where they had fallen,

"Aeducan found you here?" Brosca scurried down the hill, aiming for the purses, no doubt. With an ease that came from practice, she rifled through the dead men's armor, discovering hidden pockets that Cousland couldn't imagine leather armor being able to have. With a short gasp of delight, she pulled out a wrapped bundle and opened it to reveal a rationed meal. She ripped off a large chunk of bread and stuffed it in her mouth before she peered back up at them.

Aeducan nodded. "You weren't waking up, I figured you had collapsed from exhaustion and tried to get a sense of where we were, and find another cave further down the hill we could move to when you awoke."

"He stumbled across my pitiful attempt to fend off the latest pursuit and took pity on me. Thus, I joined your merry band and am now going to repay his rescue by leading you to Denerim, after I report to the King." Cousland finished the tale, stepping over a body. His prize was a satchel made from sturdy hide, and he unlaced its flap to open it. "Aha!"

He pointed to a small, wrapped container made of oiled leather. "We don't have to worry about having to start a fire now that I have my flint and tinder supplies." He set that aside and rummaged through until his hand closed about the small pendant that bore the symbol of his House. "Good. Now for the last part and I'll be content."

His family's shield was off to the side, but it was still there. Cousland ran his hands over the shield and gave a silent prayer of thanks to the Maker before hefting it onto his back, over the sheath of his greatsword. He wasn't used to the weight, having forsaken the sword-and-board style in favor of the brute force of a greatsword, but the shield was a part of his old life, and a welcome comfort.

He looked up and caught Aeducan staring at the shield with almost a wistful expression that faded away when he locked eyes with Cousland. "Press onward?"

"Press onward."

*

Cousland realized his initial estimate of the time to reach Redcliffe was wrong by the first rays of sunlight streaming through the eastern trees. They had reached the pass a little past the time the moon was highest in the sky, but come sunrise, they were still in the foothills of the Frostback Mountains.

They had camped at the base of an aged oak tree as morning broke over the forest. The rations that Brosca had pilfered from the bandits were used as breakfast, and after just long enough to allow their legs some relief, they were back on the road before the rosy light of the morning had given way to a clear blue sky.

Dusk was settling over the land when the first glimpses of Lake Calenhad were visible. The highway that curved about the tops of the western cliffs was empty of travelers besides themselves. When the lights of Redcliffe castle flickered over the water and were as a beacon of respite for the three weary travelers, Cousland saw that there was something amiss. He stopped short, then grunted when Brosca plowed into his back.

"Oompf!" She shoved against his leg as she fought to remain upright and glared at him. "What the …?"

"Something isn't right." He muttered, his eyes following the patrols on the castle's ramparts. "There are too many guards." He caught the shadows of riders moving in trained unison over the bridge towards the Highway.

"Too many?" Brosca peeked around him to study the castle's silhouette. "How can there be too many?"

"Arl's Eamon's men are still here."

"That's good for us, though! Isn't it?"

Cousland placed a hand on Brosca's shoulder, patted it, and then walked to the edge of the road. Below him, the cliff fell into shadow as it curved down into the water. "Arl Eamon isn't supposed to be here at all."

"Perhaps then, your brother is also there as well." Aeducan stepped up beside him, his arms folded as he gazed upon the castle.

Fergus … how was he going to explain to Fergus about the failure to protect his son; his wife? Cousland's gut turned to lead as the dwarves took the lead on the path to Redcliffe Castle. He brought up the rear, lost in his own thoughts, and only came back to being aware when the mounted patrol trotted up to them.

"Well met, traveler." The lead guard called out. He held up a hand, a signal for the squad to stop. "It's growing late for safe travel along the Highway, bandits are using the distraction in the south to cause trouble up here in the north; might I suggest the inn down in the village—"

"Hail, Ser Gregory."

"Young Lord Cousland?" Ser Gregory peered at him through the early night's gloom. "I … you were not expected—"

"Yes, well, I do enjoy an entrance." Cousland managed to scrape up enough charm to flash a tired smile, and then looked pointedly to the castle. "Is my brother here?"

"Lord Fergus? No, ser, he left only a day after he arrived. Eager as he was to reach Ostagar and the King, he barely had time for resupply, but your troops looked well."

Cousland wasn't sure if he was regretting the chance to have caught up to his brother, or relief at having a little more time to prepare some sort of … satisfactory reason for why he had allowed his brother's wife and child to die at a sword's end. Either way,

"— though it is a surprise to see you here, ser. We weren't told to expect your arrival." Ser Gregory's voice was apologetic, a well-practiced tone that many used to placate a noble wen they felt that they weren't being given their due. "Shall I announce your presence to my lord?"

"Arl Eamon is still here?"

"Yes, Lord Cousland. He is awaiting the arrival of Arl Howe's troops; they have been delayed. A messenger was sent ahead, if you wish to speak with him?"

"No." Cousland shook his head. He didn't want anyone under Arl Howe's banner to know he still lived. "Tell me, why are the men delayed?"

"Bandits, Ser. As I said, with all the local armies moving to the south by order of the King, the local troublemakers have taken it onto themselves to play while the cat's away. Not that it's any of my business, Ser, but it is odd having you arrive here like this."

_Bandits_… Cousland's hands clenched into fists and he fought to keep the sneer out of his voice when he spoke again. "A surprise for my brother, actually. I was going to join up with him, as Father felt that perhaps it was time for his sons to ride for the honor of Cousland." He shrugged his shoulders in an indifferent shrug, "Alas, my own failings overcame me. I managed to run afoul of some self-proclaimed toll keepers up north, along the Bridge of Feran's Passage, and they properly reminded me why my brother was the soldier, not I." It was easy to slip into the laidback, pretty-boy image that followed him as the youngest of the Cousland brothers. It was Fergus everyone looked up to; Fergus, who would take the Terynship when their father stepped down. The spare to Fergus' heir, Aedan took advantage of all that the 'non-heirship' entailed. His reputation allowed him to be overlooked, and underestimated.

Ser Gregory nodded and chuckled indulgently. "Of course, Ser. Do you wish us to announce you to the Arl?"

Aeducan's tale about how he had been exiled from his home city, how his youngest brother had played his trust like an instrument and tuned it perfectly for a swift betrayal, it made Cousland wary.

"In truth, my pride is severely wounded, and I don't want arl Eamon to see me in such a disgrace. If we could only freshen up in the barracks, and then a horse… and two hardy ponies for my companions, we would be on our way; I will write Father to send down the steed's worth in sovereigns as soon as possible." Cousland paused for effect and beckoned the guard to lean in close. When Ser Gregory leaned in, he dropped his voice to a stage-whisper. "I, would be very grateful if this …incident was allowed to slip underneath my Father's notice?" Three flashes of gold passed from his hand into the knight's, and when Ser Gregory righted himself on his horse, the knight's face was unreadable.

"What incident, my lord? Your horse was merely exhausted from a rough passage south, and you wanted to catch up to your brother's tireless pace. It would be no trouble to allow you use of our fine steeds; I am sure the Arl would understand." He looked over his shoulder to his squad. "Form up, men; we'll escort Lord Cousland to the stables."

"You are a lord amongst serfs, Ser Gregory." Cousland inclined his head in thanks and followed after the knights, Brosca and Aeducan right behind him.

*****  
Reviews are always welcomed and make a headcold go away!


	4. Mahariel: Taint

**Title: Six Degrees  
Author: J.E Talveran  
Rating: **M

**Summary: **In the year 9:30, six remarkably different individuals find themselves drafted into a plot to unite Ferelden to stop a looming Blight. An AU version of the game.

**Disclaimers: ***Legal* DA:O does not belong to me whatsoever, but there are original characters and plots that do. There will be slash ahead, of both the male and female sort. There will be no Alistair romancing of any sort in this tale, so if he is a half of your Dragon Age OTP, I'm afraid you'll be disappointed.

**Author's Note: **Thank you for all the reviews! I apologize for the longer wait this time around, but Awakening came out and I had to play though it … of course the game glitches and even though Alistair's –DEAD-, he's somehow my Warden's true love and we go off on ruling the kingdom … never mind that my Elf was with Leliana. I think it's payback for not romancing him in here. Ah well.

Now we're moving into the essence of the game proper, from here out, each 'chapter' of the game will be narrated by another origin, Ostagar and its events will be wrapped up by the last Origin, which if you've guessed it, will be Tabris, as alphabetical seems easiest to keep track of. This chapter was also a lot longer, by a good three thousand more words, in fact, but I trimmed that bit off and placed the meat of Ostagar proper to go with Surana's viewpoint ...mostly because Mahariel wouldn't be as chatty/approachable as I'd like him to, and Tabris isn't the viewpoint of this part.

**Mahariel: Taint**

Theron Mahariel was lost within an abyss of his own making. Shadows that formed into mockeries of his life formed and fell apart before his eyes; in his ears there was the sound of a coming storm, the deafening roar blocking out even his own desperate thoughts. Tamlen stood before him, and Mahariel reached out to his boonmate, wanting to touch something real, something safe.

Tamlen laughed and pulled just out of reach, smiling even as Mahariel's fingers fell through his body like he was smoke. "Can you hear them, Lethallin?" He whispered, his voice breaking through the thunder in his ears. "Do you hear them?"

Mahariel opened his mouth to ask 'who?'; he wanted to call out to Tamlen and ask who was to be heard, but his mouth only opened in silence and his voice failed him.

Tamlen smiled, the expression making the vallaslin that framed his lips twist upward. The result was a horrific grin that turned Mahariel's blood to ice as he stared upon it. "Come now, my brother, open your heart to their song. Does it not sound beautiful?"

As Tamlen spoke, Mahariel could vaguely pick out the undertones of some melody that drove his thoughts into frenzy: Desire, fear, sorrow, excitement, need; he yearned for the song to grow ever louder. He wanted to know the words so he too could sing. Tamlen laughed again, and this time grasped tightly around Mahariel's wrist, pulling him up close to the mirror.

"Can you **see** them, Lethallin?" His voice was honey-sweet against Mahariel's ear. The Creators help him, Mahariel looked.

Behind the silver reflection, Mahariel saw a twisted, dark ripple that shimmered in the distance, as if it was at the bottom of a clear pond. The longer Mahariel stared, the harder it was to fixate on the image; it seemed as if the city was teasing him, toying with him like a cat fixated on a wounded mouse. Then, the image shifted and warped again to reveal the outline of a large beast with scales the color of old blood. Its eyes were an empty white that pierced through his soul.

"There, Lethallin! Do you **see **her?!" Tamlen's voice was tinged with joy, the desire to worship this creature evident in the breathless sigh he offered. "She calls to me, Lethallin, and She wants to sing for you so badly ... give it time and she could." Tamlen's face was inches from his own; the sickness was palpable in his eyes. "Don't trust the Grey Warden, Lethallin. He'll cut you off from Her." Tamlen's kiss was little more than a chaste brush of his lips over Mahariel's own, but after his childhood companion pulled away, Mahariel felt only the darkness growing within him.

"Wake up, Lethallin. Embrace your destiny." Tamlen shoved him away from the mirror and back into the waking world.

"Hurgh!" Mahariel awoke in a cold sweat, his hands clenched tightly around the Dar'misu he kept under the makeshift pillow. His body ached as if he had run the entire length of the forest; his heart felt like it would explode within his chest. The world around him was a blur of sights and sounds as his eyes adjusted.

He was beside an extinguished fire, the embers long past their heated state. Around him were the soft snores of the small contingent of Grey Wardens that Duncan had joined up with once they had left the Brecilian Forest. Seven others that had set out from the human city of Denerim. Duncan had called them the last of the Wardens in Ferelden. Mahariel had left to scout the surrounding woods, and to say goodbye to the forest that was his home, and when he had returned, with the moon high overhead, the eight shemlens were deep into their whispered conversations.

Mahariel had fallen asleep to the incoherent murmurings, with his trusted Dar'misu at his fingertips. The Keeper might have trusted Duncan, but Mahariel knew humans, and knew of their treachery. The dagger was nothing more than insurance.

He rolled over to stare up at the clear blue of the sky and moved into a sitting position. He looked around to make sure of where each of the shemlens were, then got up to begin his own patrols around the camp.

Shemlens didn't understand how easily the forest could shelter and hide one's enemies, and Mahariel was not raised to be complacent.

Duncan had chosen a small dip in the ground between three large oak trees, their roots rippling through the soil and curved along the ground like a natural barrier. Mahariel checked underneath the exposed roots first, staring long into the shadowed nooks before he scrambled up one of the larger roots to brace himself against the trunk of the southernmost oak. From there, he could oversee the site.

For several minutes, there was naught but the morning calls of birds and the gentle rustle of a breeze through the forest; until a quick dart of movement near the packs that the Shemlens had brought from Denerim caught his attention.

It wasn't an animal, the movement was too deliberate. With a low growl, Mahariel crouched and eased his was along the outer roots, taking care to sidestep the few dried twigs and loose rocks that could give away his position.

He rounded the western oak and watched on as a small elven girl crept into the cradle of the oak roots that sheltered their camp supplies. For a brief moment, he saw one of the clan's children, scampering around the Keeper's araval looking for sweets, but the vision faded as the elf's face turned towards his hidden position. She bore tattoos much like how a hunter in his clan did, but the markings on her face were nothing like the blood writings, instead they were stylized lines that curved along her cheeks, highlighting the fine bone-structure.

She wore clothing that was more tattered remnants than anything else. It was a white dress, and Mahariel could see the indentations of where decoration used to be pressed onto the fabric. Most of the garment's sleeves were covered with stains of rusty brown, the blotches splattered up and onto the dress proper.

She wasn't Dalish that much was obvious now. Besides the lack of proper blood-writing, she moved too skittishly to have ever been trained by any hunter worth their bow. Still, she was thieving, and little better than the human bandits they had flushed out of hiding just a week before.

He moved down the length of the root he stood on, to stand on the flat soil of the most obvious exit. He hoped that she'd bolt unthinkingly and make this all the easier.

"Looking for something, Flat-Ear?" He called out, intentionally inflicting venom with each word. For a second, it seemed like it would work. The girl froze, her eyes going wide and her hands automatically dropping her prize. Then she turned and scrambled up the roots like she had been born a squirrel.

"Creators curse it!" He swore and took off after her, making the climb in several jumps. She was already off into the undergrowth as he landed on the upper edge of the roots. She made enough noise to follow though, and so he did.

They tore through the forest, waking up every living creature within hearing range as they ran. She was quick, and nimble, it was easy enough to tell that as she slipped over logs and scrambled to dive under low-hanging branches; but she hadn't lived in the forest long enough to run with it, not in spite of it.

Mahariel kept his pace steady, more akin to the loping run of a wolf than the darting sprint of a deer. He tried to keep her in sight, but when the growth obscured her, he needed to only listen before her breathing or her actions would give her away. As they ran further away from the camp, he could hear her tiring. She'd stop, catch her breath, and toss scared glances over her shoulder to spy him.

Now that the initial chase was over, Mahariel was warmed up for the hunt while she was running out of time. His loping run became a smug stalking. He deliberately stepped on twigs, rustled bushes; anything to send her bolting in a new direction. Every time she stopped, he forced her to run, and every time he grew nearer.

Finally, in the shadow of the forest, deep in the heart of the trees where the sunlight trickled through what little space the thick overgrowth would allow it, Mahariel struck. One hand pulled her arm sharply up behind her back, while his other held the Dar'misu against her throat. She didn't even have time to scream, she could only muster a ragged breath, her body going rigid in his hold.

"I haven't had a good run like that in some time, Flat-Ear," Mahariel chuckled low against her ear. "So, I'm in a good mood and I'll give you a moment or two to beg for your life before I send you to the Creators." He brushed a strand of flaxen-blond hair away from her face. "Does that sound about right for you?" She gave only the barest of jerks to signal a nod, the dagger still pressed against her throat. "Good." He moved the dagger away, so that the flat of the blade rested against the line of her jaw.

Then she struck.

"Argh!" Pinpricks of pain flared to life over his wrist as her nails bite into his skin. Reflexively his grip loosened, and as her arm was freed, she slammed her head sideways against his with enough force that his teeth bite down on the outside of his tongue. He could taste copper in his mouth as she wrenched free and spun to claw at his eyes. He caught her hand again, but missed the second one going for the dagger that he had forgotten in the struggle.

She launched herself at him, the dagger glinting once before it stopped just inches from being plunged into his chest. "Give me a reason Shem and I'll gut you like a …oh …" She blinked. Mahariel could see the blue of her irises disappear as her pupils widened in surprise. "You're not a Shemlen at all." She glanced down between them to the dagger and then back up to him. "You're Dalish!" She gasped, and dropped the dagger. "I actually found the Dalish!"

"You found a Dalish." Mahariel snapped, stooping down to pick up the dagger. She didn't move to stop him, but she did shift warily as he rose up again. "And you're still a thief."

"I wasn't stealing from the Dalish; I was stealing from the Shems. I was hoping they'd have an extra dagger or something lying around, or maybe some food. Food's a good thing when you haven't eaten for a few days, you know." She watched him circle around her as she spoke, turning her head to keep him in sight.

"There's a difference?" He asked, now able to get a decent look at her. She was young, young even by Dalish views. He figured she was maybe sixteen summers at most. She was also tiny, thin in the arms and the legs. He wondered if a few days without food was an understatement for years of malnourishment.

"Yes. They're Shems." She shrugged, and then paused halfway through the motion. "Well, there are good Shems, I suppose, like the Revered Mother or some of the guards who don't kick when we dart by." She finished up the shrug and stared at him. "But you're really a Dalish!"

"How observant of you."

"Can you show me to your clan? I mean, you might have already picked up another of my cousins, well, to be really truthful, he's only a cousin by marriage and his mother's more like a distant distant distant relation of Father's and … what?"

"Do you always ramble on so?" He studied her for a moment longer then sheathed the Dar'misu. He leaned against one of the nearby trees, watching as she scowled, then instantly brightened again. He chuckled softly and dropped his gaze to watch the rippling shadows of leaves play over the ground.

"It's not so much rambling as it is informing you that he's not really my cousin, but he's called cousin, well, ok, so he's called Pol—"

"Pol, you say?" Mahariel flicked his gaze back to her. "I think Junar mentioned that our newest clan addition was named Pol. He escaped death by hanging for –"

"Stealing, but it was more akin to reclaiming what was rightfully his. Shems don't care though; catch an elf outside the Alienage, even if it's in the middle of a known smuggler's pit, and they're the bad guy. Guards get their bribes, elf gets the noose, and goods get smuggled in. It's a system that works very well for them." She sighed. "Though, it's good to know that Pol survived. Soris fretted up and down like a jittery cat after a roll through catnip."

"Yes, he made it. Junar is mentoring him." Mahariel flicked away an errant fern frond that was stuck to his leather. "They're north now, probably in the Wending Woods."

"North? But Arliath said to go south … wait, why aren't you with them? You are Dalish, aren't you?" Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"I am Dalish, and no, my clan is not here."

"Why aren't you with them?"

"I'm travelling with the Shemlens, actually. The very ones you're stealing from."

"To be really fair, I never managed to snag anything from them so it's not really theft, more like a casual browsing of goods – wait, you're travelling **with** them? But … but they're Shems!" She blinked owlishly at him and he could easily recall Marill looking at him just the same after a bout of teasing that flew over her head.

"I am. They're bound for Ostagar and I'm to join them."

"Wow." She gaped at him now, stepping closer. "Are you …going to fight with them? Not be like … like a servant or messenger or anything?"

"I am no servant, nor a messenger to any Shem. Dalish are hunters and warriors, and if the Grey Wardens and Duncan –"

"Duncan? As in Grey Warden Duncan, Commander of the Grey Wardens here in Ferelden? That Duncan?"

Mahariel blinked. The girl was right before him now, her eyes bright and wide; her expression the epitome of curiosity. "I … uh, yes, that Duncan. Why? Do you know him?"

"Know him? Mother said he tried to recruit her once before I was born! That of all the shemlens that she's ever met, that he's the best of them. This is even better than running away to join the Dalish!"

"It is?" He yelped when she tugged on him, and stumbled to regain his balance. "What are you doing?"

"Can you take me to see him? Please?" Her eyes turned soulful and doe-like, and he wondered if she knew exactly how easily those sorts of looks melted away resistances. "This is like fate and destiny and all those stories rolled up into one large ball of yarn."

"Take you to see, wait, why?"

She stopped pulling him along and turned to face him directly. "Look, I can't go back to Denerim; they'll hang me, no … I'll probably get torture first, then maybe left to rot in a cell. Your clan's gone and –that- was the only lead I had to finding the Dalish and maybe starting over with them. Mother said that when the Maker closes a door, he'll always open a window and this … this is that window!"

"Windows and doors; you're making no sense at all." Mahariel freed his wrist. "You're also a child and –ow!" He glared as she stepped back, easing out of a fighting stance.

"I'll kick even higher than your shin if you call me a child again." Her glare softened, and she reached out for his hand again, but this time, her eyes were pleading. "At least let me talk to him … please? If he says no, I'll – I'll go north or maybe west into Orlais, just … please. Mother taught me everything she knew, and if he thought she was Grey Warden material, maybe I could be too."

Mahariel wanted to say no, the word was on the tip of his tongue, but he found himself unable to shatter the last vestiges of hope he could see in the girl's eyes. He also resigned himself to the fact that he would most likely regret this later. "Fine. I'll take you back to talk to him." He sighed as she clapped her hands together with a delightful laugh and then allowed her to drag him along again. "What's your name anyway?"

"It's Kallian. Kallian Tabris."

***

Ostagar rose up above the mists that shrouded the Kocari Wilds. Mahariel had seen the ruins once before, when his clan had skirted through the northern brush to make their way to a Gathering in Orlais. What had remained in his memory so strikingly was the tower that seems to pierce high into the sky, and today, as Duncan led the march into the ruined fortress, it still struck his breath away to look at the architecture. The Keeper said that the Tevinter had built this fortress, and that there was a sister to the place at the northern end of the Imperial Highway that curved around the body of Thedas like a snake.

"Wow…" Tabris craned her neck back as they walked under an archway. She was tucked beside Mahariel, a cloak pulled over her tattered clothing. There had been no women in the Warden squad that had left from Denerim, so Tabris would have to wait until they were settled in Ostagar before obtaining new clothing.

"Ho there, Duncan!" A jovial shout came from a party of men crossing the long bridge that spanned the valley that Ostagar straddled. At the head of the troops was a tall, blond, and striking man whose eyes sparkled like crystal water.

"That's King Cailan!" Tabris whispered to him, her eyes alight with wonder. "I didn't think we'd meet the king!"

So, this was the human king. Mahariel sized up the man as he approached. He looked the part, all glory and gold and every move was poised for perfection. King Cailan demanded attention and he was granted it. Still, though his eyes danced and his smile was infectious, Mahariel could see the flaking at the edges. This man was more boy than a king, and nothing like how the stories of his father were told.

He turned to share this revelation with Tabris but found that she was caught up in the glamour that the king was wrapped in. He scowled and jostled her enough to force her to toss a glare his way.

"I'll have the mighty Duncan at my side in battle after all!" King Cailan grinned, turning to stand shoulder to shoulder with the dark-skinned Warden. "Glorious!" He stepped back and finally allowed Mahariel and Tabris his attention. Mahariel scowled under his hood. "The other Wardens told me you've found a pair of promising recruits. I take it these are whom they speak of?"

"Allow me to introduce you, your Majesty—"

"Hail! King Cailan!" A shout rose from behind them. Mahariel turned as three riders cantered up the way to them. Hoof beats bounced off the stonework as they approached and when they were within a dozen paces, the tallest rider dismounted and hurried up. "King Cailan…"

"Well met!" King Cailan smiled, the elves already pushed from his thoughts. "You are Bryce's youngest, are you not? Yes, I remember you from last year's tournament." His expression clouded for a moment. "Though I was sure that Fergus said your father was to be the one riding to join us here; along with Arl Howe's men."

"He won't be, and that's exactly why I am here, your majesty. I bring important news." The man straightened, trying hard to act like he hadn't ridden hard over miles of rough ground to reach Ostagar.

"About your father? Your brother has been concerned about him."

"He's not coming. He died when our castle was taken."

"Dead?!" King Cailan's eyes widened and his mouth drew into a serious line. "What do you mean: dead? And overtaken?"

"My father, Teryn Cousland and my mother are dead, your Majesty. Arl Howe betrayed us and seized the castle the night after my brother took our army south, to here. Had I not escaped, he would have killed me and told you any story he wished."

King Cailan shook his head slowly, but he did not look like he disbelieved the man's story. "I … can scarcely believe it! How could he think he could get away with such treachery?" Fire blazed in his eyes and he grasped Cousland's hand firmly. "As soon as we are done here, I will turn my army north and bring Howe to justice. You have my word."

Cousland bowed his head. "Thank you, your Majesty."

The king released his hand and gestured for Cousland to join the half-circle that Duncan, Mahariel, Tabris, and the guards made up. "No doubt you wish to see your brother." At Cousland's nod, he frowned in sympathy. "Unfortunately, he and his men are scouting in the Wilds."

"I … good." Cousland dropped his head a moment. "I'm not eager to tell him, your Majesty."

"Of that, I have no doubt. You will see him again once the battle is over, I am certain. I apologize, but there is nothing more I can do. All I can suggest is that you vent your grief against the darkspawn for the time being."

"…thank you, your Majesty." Cousland offered a formal bow.

"I am sorry to cut this short, but I should return to my tent. Loghain waits eagerly to bore me with his strategies." When the king chuckled, it rippled through the men surrounding him. Mahariel noticed that none of the Wardens, though, were laughing. Duncan's expression especially was schooled neutrality.

"Your uncle sends his greetings and reminds you that Redcliffe forces could be here in less than a week—"

"Ha!" The king laughed, a short crisp sound that echoed off the ruins. "Eamon just wants in on the glory. We've won three battles against these monsters and tomorrow should be no different."

"You sound very confident of that," Mahariel commented, his voice as dry as a summer's day. If the king picked up on the thinly-veiled disapproval, though, he did not say.

"Overconfident, some would say. Right Duncan?" He laughed, clapping Duncan on the shoulder. The Warden Commander grimaced and went to speak even as the King stepped away from them, back towards the bridge.

"Your Majesty, I'm not certain the Blight can be ended quite as… quickly as you might wish."

"I'm not even sure this is a true Blight. There are plenty of darkspawn on the field, but alas, we've seen no sign of an Archdemon."

"Disappointed, your Majesty?"

"I had hoped for a war like in the tales! A king riding with the fabled Grey Wardens against a tainted god!" He slumped. "But I suppose this will have to do. Now, I must go before Loghain sends out a search party. Farewell, Grey Wardens!" He bowed and returned back across the bridge, his honor guard trailing after him.

Mahariel snorted, and glanced down to watch Tabris watch the king. Even though the man had removed them from his thoughts the moment a noble charged up to offer him a new way to save the day, the girl was still acting like a moonstruck halla calf following the Herd Keeper around.

Duncan shook his head and sighed. "What the king said is true. They've won several battles against the darkspawn here."

"Yet, you don't sound very assured." A gruff voice came from Mahariel's left. He glanced behind him to see the other two riders had finally met with them and that they weren't noble guards. Instead, two dwarves peered out from under heavy cloaks. The one who spoke had eyes that reminded him of his Keeper.

Duncan also turned to acknowledge the two newcomers. "I know there is an archdemon behind this. But I cannot ask the king to act solely on my feeling."

"You could if he were not such a fool." Mahariel sneered.

"You must not speak of the king so," Duncan chastised, though it was clear for a moment that his thoughts might have echoed Mahariel's words. "He is… over-eager, perhaps, but he is also one of the few Grey Warden allies. Our numbers in Ferelden are too few. We must do what we can and look to Teyrn Loghain to make up the difference." He bowed to the dwarves. "Forgive me; I am Duncan, Commander of the Grey here in Ferelden."

"I am Duran Aeducan, this is Natia Brosca. We're from Orzammar, and well … we've come to warn you."

"About?" Duncan frowned.

"The darkspawn are carving out tunnels to the surface all over the Deep Roads. Most are south, away from Orzammar patrols, or any known human settlements on the surface. They're preparing for invasion."

"So, then they are leaving the Deep Roads en masse?"

"Yes ser."

Duncan pondered that for a moment. "Then to that end, we should proceed with the Joining Ritual without delay."

"A moment, Ser Duncan." Cousland held up a hand. "My companions and I, we're already figured for dead by everyone we know. I know you came by earlier this year to recruit me, but my father turned you away. I ask you now to accept me into the Wardens. You said it yourself, you need all the help you can get; and I have nothing to lose. Nothing."

"Not to mention that as a Grey Warden, you would be mostly untouchable by Arl Howe's men or the law should you choose to enact a vengeance that the king might forget?" Duncan's voice was sly, but it held no judgment. "It is true, I wanted you for the Wardens, and I will not turn you away now; but what about your friends?"

Aeducan answered that. "We're exiled, and already dead in the eyes of the Shaperate. Normally, we would join the Legion of the Dead, but I think that you surfacers could use our help here. Besides," he shot a sideways look to his female counterpart. "As a Grey Warden, we'll have a caste again."

"But… ah, a hot meal and a change of clothes might be nice, first." Tabris piped up, smiling nervously. "I don't think I can fight darkspawn in my wedding dress."

Duncan chuckled. "I agree! We have until nightfall to begin the ritual. Once you've rested up, find Alistair, a junior Grey Warden, and meet me at my tent. I'll be preparing your tasks for when you're ready."

Mahariel frowned, " …and the taint?"

"That will be completed along with the Joining. Go, rest up, and wash up." With that, Duncan bowed to the five of them and disappeared into the bustle of the encampment.

* * *

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	5. Surana: Spirit

**Surana: Spirit**

"Concentrate."

Neria Surana frowned, feeling her nose scrunch up with the expression even though her eyes were as tightly shut as she had been told to keep them. She was concentrating, and failing miserably at it every time she thought she'd almost achieved that easy trance state her mentor fell into so easily.

"No, that's all wrong. Open your eyes, take a breath, and we'll try again."

Surana's eyes snapped open and she gave the elderly mage before her an exasperated look. "I'm trying my best, Senior Enchanter, it's just …difficult." She bowed her head, her eyes falling on the man she was kneeling over. He was asleep, in a guided trance that the other mage placed him into. His leg was mangled, and though her mentor had repaired and healed most of the damage; Surana was supposed to finish the task.

"Do you think that the darkspawn will just sit and twiddle their thumbs if you asked for a moment's peace on the battlefield, child?"

"Of course not, Wynne." Surana flicked her eyes back to her mentor. " …though, it'd be easier if I went into a trance first, no?"

"And lose your ability to be aware of your surroundings, therefore making you as helpless as the solider you're trying to save?" Wynne clucked her tongue, then shifted her robes so she could kneel easily behind Surana. "To be a Spirit Healer is to be at home with the benevolent spirits of the Fade. If you cannot call upon help, now, then even the deepest of trances and lyrium will never aid you in calling to them later." A gentle pressure fell onto her face as Wynne set her fingers onto Surana's temple. "I know you have the willpower to follow my path, Neria, you just need to take the first steps."

Surana closed her eyes, and allowed Wynne's voice to guide her down through steps of relaxation, until she found herself floating weightless in a healing trance. She watched as ghostly hands showed her the paths to take, and she followed, Wynne's voice a soothing backdrop to the hum of the Fade.

"Coax them out of their hiding places, remind them of their duty as beings of compassion, honor, and faith." Wynne murmured in her ear, but her voice was falling away with every word as Surana slipped further and further into the Fade. When Wynne's voice disappeared, Surana's eyes fluttered open.

Surrounding her was the soft, dreamlike quality of the Fade, the ruins of Ostagar shimmering from sharp and crisp details, down to the tiniest of embellishments that her eyes couldn't have possibly made out in the waking world; to fuzt shadows of grey and white that looked nothing like the stone they should be. Above her, the bright blue of the early Spring sky was melted away, replaced by a shroud of silver that made Surana shiver. Her eyes following lines of runes dancing in the air down to sleeping man she knelt over, and she allowed herself to breath a sigh of relief.

She'd never stayed in these trances for long after Wynne would release her, and this seemed much more stable than the last time. Her ear twitched as she slid her hand over the ugly red mess of a wound that was the man's leg. They had cleaned it earlier; grinding the paste of Andraste's Grace into a poultice that should draw out any residual taint from the darkblade blade that had bit into the man's flesh. In the waking world, the wound looked much as any rending tear would, but here in the fade, the laceration pulsed with a sickening dark glow.

"_Blessed are they who stand before  
The corrupt and the wicked and do not falter.  
Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just." _

Surana murmured the Chant as she rested her palms against the ragged edges of the wound. She could seal it shut with a simple incantation, drawing upon the powers of Creation, but that wasn't what Wynne's lesson was tonight. No, Wynne was certain that Surana would be a fine Spirit Healer, and so … tearing her thoughts away from the ingrained lessons and steps she had memorized for the usual healing, Surana forced herself to stare deep into the mists of the Fade and opened her heart to the invisible beings that lingered beyond her senses. A Spirit Healer was nothing without a spirit or two who was willing to entwine their fates. It wasn't an abomination, but a partnership that few could begin.

"_Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow.  
In their blood the Maker's will is written."_

She took into herself the agony that was plaguing the man, allowed it to wash over her and drive her into the depths of despair. Pain wracked through her body, and the shadow of the taint seeped into her soul. When she felt that she couldn't bear the sensation any longer, she forced it back through her and out into the fade itself, where the essence of suffering was tangible for all to see.

"I cannot heal him alone," she began, her voice hoarse for a brief second. Her vision was blurry from unshed tears, a side-effect of the pain. "He will linger on this threshold of suffering and despair, even if we heal the mortal world. I cannot heal him, nor would it be just to kill him, and make his children fatherless, his wife a widow long before the Maker's chosen time."

Surana tried to offer up her own desire to ease the suffering. "I ask you, help me, you cannot allow him to suffer in your presence, that would be a terrible lack of compassion on your part."

That prompted a glow from the mists. It brightened, flickered away, then coalesced into a glimmering form of light that shaped into the guise of a humanoid.

"I cannot let this man suffer, not when I can cure him of his grief and pain." The spirit spoke in a melodious voice that recalled of lullabies from long ago, from before the Tower became her life. "T'would be cruel to leave him to his fate right before he steps on the road to healing." The spirit stepped closer, then knelt opposite of Surana. "Give me your hands, mortal, and I will show you how to call on us when the need appears."

Surana stayed quiet as she nodded, then held out her hands, palms up to the spirit.

The spirit of compassion drew a fingertip over Surana's palm, a tingling warmth remained behind as she spelled out runes and patterns that wavered before Surana's sight. All the while, Surana could feel as if those runes were being written over her very soul and she suddenly knew how to draw the fade down to bolster and aid the fallen.

"You have a long road ahead of you, young one." The spirit touched two fingertips to Surana's lips, "but have faith and you will succeed, no matter what trial you face."

Surana blinked and the spirit was gone. Sounds rushed back to her awareness: the clang of metal as the blacksmiths finished up weapons, the chant of the clerics as they prayed for the armies, the rustle of the spring breeze through the long, open corridors of the fortress. Wynne was across the small circle they had made alongside the magi encampment, staring into the contents of a medium-sized cauldron.

The man she hovered over groaned and opened his eyes. "Where …am I?" He blinked up at her, the cloud of pain over his eyes filtering away with every second.

Wynne turned at his voice and smiled. She knelt beside him again, but this time, two bowls of slightly steaming liquid were in her hands. "You are at Ostagar, good ser."

"Ostagar … that means … the darkspawn… in the wilds—"

Wynne shushed him gently, "we know, young man, and the Teyrn has already shifted the patrols to compensate for the new information. What you need to worry about now is recovery." To that, she handed him the bowl. "Drink this, it'll help you regain your strength."

He thanked her, and Wynne gestured for a nearby nurse to come and check the man. She handed the second bowl to Surana herself. "How do you feel?"

"Like I jumped into a glacier river on a spring day." She smiled up at her mentor. "Even though I've never jumped into any sort of water besides my baths when I was little."

"Yes, that you did," Wynne chuckled.

"Does this mean it worked?"

Wynne watched her for a long moment, and her expression turned wistful. "Yes, child, between this and your Harrowing, I am certain there isn't much left for me to teach you."

"What?" Surana blinked, and struggled to her feet as Wynne got up. She followed her mentor as Wynne returned to the cauldron. "Wynne, what are you talking about?" She placed her hand just over Wynne's shoulder, a small, tugging motion followed the gesture. Wynne's body flowed with the tug until she was facing her apprentice, but her eyes were downcast. When she finally looked at Surana, they held a guilty sheen to them. "Wynne?"

"After the …unfortunate incident with Jowan, Irving and Gregoire had their differencing opinions about you." Wynne started off. Her voice was soft, the tone she used to try and keep Surana's attention when a dull history lesson was about to come up.

Surana shied away as Wynne spoke, her eyes falling as her hand dropped from Wynne's shoulder. So, that little story had filtered all the way down the Imperial Highway to Ostagar. It would explain the looks she had been receiving from the Templars, the Clerics, and the older mages. She glanced back up to Wynne after a moment of regret. "Well, I don't think they chose death …seeing that I'm here?" She tried, and failed, to smile.

Wynne touched her chin. "Child."

"No, no." Surana leant away from the touch. "No, it was my fault. Everything that happened was because I failed all of you. Horribly."

"He was your friend—"

"And now you're going to try and reason out why I did what I did?" Surana scoffed, the bitterness sounded ugly, even to her own hearing. "I messed up, Wynne. I thought Jowan had been sincere—that… no. I'll take whatever punishment they've prepared for me."

"The Maker was watching when Irving interceded to spare your life." Wynne murmured, then blinked as Surana let out a harsh, barking laugh.

"That part of the rumor mill is becoming rusty if all the details are left out." Surana muttered. "I was allowed a grace period while they 'investigate into the crimes' because there's too few Spirit Healers in the Circles, and they didn't want to cull that number with the war in the southlands. Here."

"The few stragglers that the Circle sparred have finally arrived to Ostagar, and they had news from the Circle. About you." Wynne moved the conversation on, coughing once to clear her throat.

"What did they say?" Surana asked with polite curiosity as a man strode up to them. He had the look of an Rivain man, his skin was a rich bronze color that spoke of lands outside of Ferelden. When he spoke, he commanded attention and the two Spirit Healers turned to address him.

"Ah, Duncan." Wynne said by greeting. "When did you arrive?"

"A candlemark ago," he touched his fists to opposing shoulders and bowed. "I take it this is she?"

Surana's brow furrowed. "Pardon, good ser, but have we met?"

Duncan exchanged a questioning glance with Wynne. "You have not told her?"

"I was getting to that part," Wynne sounded testy. "I couldn't send a Spirit Healer to you without a spirit to call upon, now could I?"

"Wynne?"

"Child, this is Duncan. The Commander of the Grey Wardens here in Ferelden, ah, he's here to …speak with you." The tail of her words fell flat in the air around them.

"What about?"

Duncan glanced to Wynne once more, "do you wish to tell her, or should I?"

Wynne gave her a wistful smile, and then shook her head slowly; perhaps with a tinge of regret. "No. She is no longer my apprentice, she has fulfilled the last task needed to become a Spirit Healer, and she has passed her Harrowing—"

"Wynne?"

"—Duncan will explain everything to you, Mage Surana; I have plenty of things to do and you have more important matters to tend to." Wynne's voice turned hard, and she waved at them with her hand; already turning back to the cauldron.

Duncan gestured for them to leave, giving a thankful look to Wynne as he led them towards a large fire on the other side of camp. They passed by the scaffolding from where a priestess was preaching to a handful of soldiers. As they moved underneath her shadow, she spoke of the arrogance of the Tevinter Imperium Mages, and how, in their pride, they walked into the Black City and doomed the world.

"_Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him.  
Foul and corrupt are they  
Who have taken His gift  
And turned it against His children.  
They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones.  
They shall find no rest in this world  
Or beyond."_

Surana could just feel the priest's accusing eyes boring into her as Duncan neared the flames.

"I apologize about this being so sudden, I was sure that you would have been told before I arrived." He faced her, and he did look apologetic, but that was smoothed away quick enough. "As Wynne said, I am the Commander of the Grey Wardens here in Ferelden, and one of my most important duties is to replenish our numbers in the face of the oncoming Blight."

"So it is a Blight, then?"

"I'm afraid so." Duncan inclined his head. "Gregorie is an old friend of mine, and he must have been impressed by you, Neria Surana, for it was his intervention that's sparing you the fate of Aeonar."

The Mage prison. Surana didn't hide her shiver of fear. All mages knew the rumors of what happened up there. That once you were thrown in, you were left to rot, or to be possessed. The lucky ones became possessed, as the rumors claimed.

"Instead, he felt your talents as a Spirit Healer should aid the Grey Wardens, and it would be a fitting punishment for a Mage to redeem herself by battling the darkspawn."

"I'm … wait, me?" Surana started to shake her head, then thought better. They were taught decorum in the tower, and she wouldn't let this faze her. "… I understand, Ser Duncan."

"Do you, now?" He canted his head, and he studied her. Whether he found something to his approval, he didn't say. "At any rate, the day grows short and we have much to do in preparation. I need you to find—" He stopped as voices approached them. Surana turned and she couldn't help but gape at the size of the group walking towards them. She saw three human men, and a pair of elves; the male wearing the distinct leathers of the Dalish (she remembered that lesson well), and the girl wearing leather that looked suitable more for a human lass than any elf. Then, she knew she looked comical as her eyes widened when she saw dwarves for the first time outside of a book.

"I think this leather's too big for me."

"You'll grow into it. Though, it was the Ancestor's luck that there was a surface caste merchant here."

"Ha! Luck, he says. It's because any dwarf with a scent for gold knows there's a fortune to be made here."

"Well, the leather's still too big, it's going to fall off around me in the middle of a fight and then, woopsie! I'll be nude fighting darkspawn."

"I wouldn't mind that."

"Daveth, a gentleman doesn't leer at ladies so."

"Of course 'a gentleman' does, Ser… whats-yer-name again?"

"Jory." One of the humans, dressed in chainmail armor scowled at the other.

"Ah, right! Jory. As I was saying, Ser Knight, a 'gentleman' does everything he can to make sure a 'lady' is appreciated. It's out of my best interest, and manners, to let her know."

"I'm sure." Jory didn't sound convinced.

"I might have to agree with our roguish friend here, Ser Jory; women do love a compliment or two." The tallest of the men offered a dazzling smile to the elf-wearing-the-too-big-leathers.

"Ugh, you going to try that on every pair of legs you see walking by?"

"Do not worry, my stout little tankard of angst and bitterness, you are the first woman in my heart."

The dwarven woman scowled up at the man and muttered something that sounded dark and crude and a bit inappropriate to be said in polite company. However, the man seemed to take it in stride, laughing loudly and clapping her on the shoulder.

The party reached the fire where Surana and Duncan stood about. "I see you managed to find supplies," he looked them over, his eyes lingering on the smallest elf, "and, uh, some armor."

"This was all they had, and I'm not fighting in a dress ever again." She responded, her chin set high. The attempt at dignity failed when she cracked a smile and eased into a relaxed stance. She was right though, the leathers were too large for her. "I'll make due; hey, if I have to fight darkspawn in just my smallclothes, it'll be so worth being here."

"See, there's a bright side for everything." The tallest man grinned to her.

Surana couldn't shake her attention away from the group, even while Duncan introduced them. "I … are they all Grey Wardens?"

"Grey Warden recruits, actually." Ser Jory proclaimed.

"Yes, and …wait." Duncan frowned. He counted them again. "Where's Alistair?"

"Who?" The female dwarf, Brosca as Duncan called her, asked.

"The junior member of the order that will be accompanying you to the Wilds." Duncan looked to Ser Jory. "Wasn't he with you, up by the infirmary?"

"He was, but the Revered Mother asked him to deliver a message; something about one last duty to the Chantry." Ser Jory nodded, then pointed towards the ruins of what was once a great hall. "He went that way."

"Very well, Surana, might you go and fetch him? I'm going to see if I can't find a mage to perform an accommodation spell for those leathers on Tabris. Grey Wardens do not fight in their smallclothes."

"Pity, she'd look good in 'em." Daveth leered again, but was the picture of innocence when Duncan cast a glance his way.

"I'll go fetch him, no problem." Surana hastily agreed before Daveth could turn his comments onto her. She bowed on her way out and darted along the expanse of the camp before ducking into the shadows of the ruins. There was a servant tidying up near a large oak table, but she couldn't see anyone who looked like an 'Alistair' to her. Then, she heard voices coming from a raised dias that was bathed in sunshine.

"What is it now? Haven't Grey Wardens asked more than enough of the Circle?"

" I simply came to deliver a message from the Revered Mother, ser mage. She desires your presence." Surana poked her head around a pillar to find the pair. She recognized the mage as one of the apprentices that had completed his Harrowing a few years before her. She remembered him as a sullen, snappy boy, unwilling to share idle chatter, or a study table. The other man was dressed like a soldier, and bore the shield of the Templars, but he didn't much look like a templar. Surana shrunk back into the shadows as their argument escalated and held her breath as the mage stormed past her. If Wynne was right, and the Jowan … issue had traveled the grape vine to Ostagar, then she wasn't willing to run into any sour-faced mages more than she could manage. She waited until he was well past her hiding spot, then walked out into the sun.

"You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together." The man quipped. When he smiled at her, it was the easy smile of someone who held laughter and happiness in high regard.

She couldn't help but smile in return, "you are one very strange human."

"Ha! You're not the first woman to say that… wait, we haven't met have we? I don't suppose you happen to be another mage?" He peered at her, and then circled about to make sure she wasn't hiding the grumpier mage somewhere behind her.

She quirked a brow, and suddenly knew why Wynne had a look perfected for odd antics such as the one he was performing. "Would that make your day worse?"

"Hardly." He was still poking around the pillars, double-checking, then triple-checking. "I just like to know my chances of being turned into a toad at any given moment—woah!" He turned to face her and yelped as she called a wisp to her side. "You are a mage!" He stumbled back.

"I am, I'm sorry. Teasing is wrong, but the look on your face…" Surana stifled a giggle and then coughed. "You must be Alistair, Duncan mentioned I should find you."

"You're one of the new recruits, then? Well, then it's a pleasure to meet you. As the junior member of our order, I'll be helping you with the Joining." He held out his hand to her, and she took it.

"The Joining?"

"Yep." He released her hand. "Well, seeing as there's no more mages about to terrify me, let's return to Duncan. I imagine he's eager to get things underway." He allowed her to take the lead as they returned to Duncan's fire.

Already the sun was beginning to sink below the western mountains, and the shadows were stretching long dark fingers over the encampment. When they entered the square, Duncan looked relieved.

"You found Alistair, did you? Good. I'll assume that all of you are ready to begin preparations."

Surana shifted to look around Alistair and found that the city-elf, Tabris, was indeed in leather that seemed a bit more suitable for her build. She still looked slightly comical, more akin to a child playing dress-up than any solider she'd ever seen or heard about.

"…assuming of course, that you're quite finished riling up mages, Alistair."

"What can I say?" Alistair shrugged non-committedly. "The Revered Mother ambushed me. The way she wields guilt they should stick her in the army."

"She forced you to sass the mage, did she? We cannot afford to antagonize anyone, Alistair. We don't need to give anyone more ammunition against us."

"You're right Duncan," Alistair bowed his head, his shoulders slumped. "I apologize."

"Now then, since you're all here, we can begin." He beckoned for them to follow him to a table, where a map was spread out over it. Unlike the army maps, this seemed lacking of troop movements and darkspawn sightings. "You four will be heading into the Kocari Wilds to perform two tasks. The first is to obtain eight vials of darkspawn blood; one for each recruit."

"What do we need darkspawn blood for?" Surana asked.

"For the Joining itself. I'll explain more once you've returned."

"Go into the Wilds? Isn't that …dangerous?" Ser Jory shifted in place, his mail armor clinking against itself.

"You weren't recruited out of charity. All of you seem resourceful and skilled. Alistair is the most junior member of our order and will accompany you as is tradition. Do not worry, I doubt you will need to go far into the Wilds … preferably only as far as to the second task."

"What is the second task?" The other elf, the Dalish one, spoke. Mahariel, Duncan had called him, though Surana wondered if that was just his clan name.

"There was once a Grey Warden archive in the Wilds, abandoned long ago when we could no longer afford to maintain such remote outposts. It has recently come into our attention that some scrolls have been left behind, magically sealed to protect them. Alistair," He glanced to the templar. "I want you to retrieve these scrolls if you can."

"What sort of scrolls are these?" He asked, though he was already nodding in agreement to Duncan's request.

"Old treaties, if you're curious. Promises of support made to the Grey Wardens long ago. They were once considered only formalities." He chuckled once. "With so many having forgotten their commitments to us, I suspect it may be a good idea to have something to remind them with."

"And if they're no longer there? Looters aren't just a dwarven traditon, you know." Brocsa took the offered map after Duncan rolled it up. She tucked it into her pack.

"It's possible the scrolls may have been destroyed or even stolen, though the seal's magic should have protected them. Only a Grey Warden can break such a seal."

"I don't understand," Alistair began, "why leave such things in a ruin if they're so valuable?"

"It was assumed we would someday return." Duncan shrugged. "A great many things were assumed that have not held true."

"Is this part of our Joining too?" Tabris asked.

"No, but the effort must be made." Duncan led them back near the fire. The warmth was welcomed as the late afternoon air was slowly gathering a chill. "I have every confidence you are up to the task."

"Where's the archive, exactly?" Cousland arched a brow.

"It will be an overgrown ruin by now, but the sealed chest should remain intact. The map I gave to Brosca will guide you to the area you need to search." Duncan rested a firm hand on Alistair's shoulder. "Watch over your charges, Alistair. Return quickly, and safely."

"We will."

"Then may the Maker watch over your path. I will see all of you when you return."

***

Despite the bitter cold of the wind coming up from the southern mountain range, the open expanse of the Kocari Wilds was a treat for a mage who had spent her entire life in the gilded cage of the Circle Tower. Surana tilted her face up into the breeze and allowed herself a secret smile.

They were a couple of miles into the Wilds, the mood jovial despite the tasks they were sent to do, when the first scent of trouble reared up. Alistair had taken the rear guard, seemingly having found a bond with Cousland and Jory over a shared love of tournaments. The men were talking in quick, but low tones, having each been trained to keep an eye out while on the move.

The dwarves were in the center of the group. Brosca looked a bit under the weather, and even though the breeze should have helped, it didn't make a difference. Aeducan was on the outskirts, and he looked as tense as one of the many mousers hunting their prey from the Circle Tower. Which left the three elves and Daveth up front. Though, it was more of Mahariel up front, tracking, while the two elves tried to avoid Daveth's running commentary.

Alistair cut himself off mid-sentence, pulling up short and forcing the two men beside him to stop as well. "We've got company." He stated. His sword was already in his right hand while he shouldered his shield with his left. His eyes tracked movement in the light, rolling mist that the others couldn't see.

Surana felt the tension slip over the company like a noose. She fell back into the center of a forming circle while the warriors each took a cardinal direction around her. She caught the lower end of a longbow fade into the nearby brush, and Tabris, Brosca, and Daveth ducked into the mists, bobbing and weaving more like ghosts on the edge of one's vision than actual figures.

"Darkspawn?" Ser Jory asked.

"Darkspawn," Alistair confirmed. He flicked a glance to where Surana was standing. "Have you ever faced a darkspawn before?" She shook her head mutely. "Well, here's your chance! Savor it, the moment only comes once in a lifetime."

When the words left his mouth, the fiends struck. Chaos erupted all around her as creatures forged only from nightmare exploded out of the mist all around them, swords and axes held high and too-wide mouths split in lipless, maniacal grins. They crashed into the line of shields, the force of the impact sliding the line back a couple of inches. The muddy ground they stood on was little help to keeping a defensive formation up.

Swords arced in the air, colliding in bizarre dances all around her. There was a macabre rhythm to the motions, broken only by the telltale splatter of a blade finding it's mark between armor and cutting deep into unresisting, soft flesh. Brosca's throaty grunts came from her left as the rogue stepped out of the shadows to slice her daggers across the throat of an archer far too busy with aiming at Ser Jory.

"Neria, watch out!"

She whirled and saw an arrow pierce the air where she had been. Her heart leapt into her throat; if she had just been paying attention she wouldn't have such close calls. She shook her head once, violently, and then gripped her staff tight. With a thought, a small wisp materialized near her, and Surana felt her magical strength heighten in response.

"Argh, back you hellish creatures!" Jory growled. A genlock had flanked him, the change in positions would make the warrior's use of the greatsword he swung useless as now there was hardly any room for him to build up a swing. He stumbled back, his feet squelching in the mud, and Surana could see fear seep into his expression.

"Ser Jory!" She yelled, and called through the fade to touch aspects of valor and justice. The surge of might flowed through her, and when she pointed, collapsed around Ser Jory like a second suit of golden armor that flickered in and out of sight. The heroic offense inspired the knight and with a booming yell, he shoved his sword through the gut of the leading hurlock and forced it back like a battering ram against its fellows.

Actually aiding in the battle was the key to unlocking Surana's paralyzing inability to focus and now she twirled in her own sort of dance, pulling down the ideals and virtues of the fade to ripple through the Company. Arrows appeared to just miss their intended mark, whistling through the air only inches from Kallian's ear, or glanced off Aeducan's shield. Cousland seemed to deflect them with a casual bat of his own greatsword. Other arrows though, slammed home in the darkspawn, forcing a swing off-balance, or piercing deep into a lidless eye. Surana couldn't see Mahariel, but the Dalish's aim was eerily accurate.

It was growing harder to keep her balance as the fight pressed on. The ground was now a disgusting mixture of blood, gore, and mud, and Surana felt her feet slip every time she tried to check the position of one of the company. She could see Tabris ducking between anger-flushed thrusts, the elf almost achieving the upper hand, but her parries were sloppy and threw her form off. She stumbled as the hurlock knocked her dagger away – Surana wasn't going to call the healing surge up in time to prevent a mortal wound –

"Who taught you to fight? A girl?" Daveth chuckled as his dagger slipped into the hurlock's spine. He gave a wrenching twist and dropped the twitching body to the ground. "You really need to practice!"

"I'll have you know my mother taught me to fight!" Tabris shouted, scooping up her dagger and running to flank a darkspawn on Alistair's left.

"That explains quite a bit, you know!"

"Oh shut up!"

Surana felt the healing magic leave her fingers with a rush of cold, and resumed guarding the warriors, satisfied that the rogues were seemingly capable of handling themselves.

"If you have the wind to chatter like a songbird, you have the wind to help us drive off the rest of them." Mahariel was in sight now, his quiver empty. His daggers glinted as he moved through the thinning crowd of darkspawn, cutting through them like they were tall-grass in his way.

Tabris yanked her dagger out of a genlock's shoulder and glared at him. Her blond hair was matted with blood. "Why don't you like fun?"

Brosca laughed in response, also near the group now. Bruises ran down her jaw and disappeared into the neck of her leather tunic. "Archers are dead. You're welcome."

"These ones are too." Cousland wiped his blade clean on the back of a hurlock. He checked the steel, then sheathed it along his own back.

Surana banished the wisp hovering near her hair and dug in her pack for a small vial. As she pulled it out, it's bluish glow fell over the company. "Any of you injured past bandages and a poultice?" They all shook their heads. "Good." She gulped down the lyrium. She had to blink back tears as it turned her throat to ice. "I hate this stuff."

"Lyrium?" Aeducan asked. He was in the middle of wrapping his wrist with a bandage, the linen cloth tinged red from either blood or a healing salve. "I've never seen it in liquid form before."

"It tastes horrible, like being forced from a deep sleep but in liquid form." She made a face and tucked the empty vial away. "I hate it, but I've never really… fought before, and if that's a skirmish, then I don't want to know how it feels to have the reserves of magic tapped dry."

"Just be careful, lass. Too much lyrium can affect even the heartiest of dwarves." Aeducan tied off the loose end of the bandage and gave her a long look.

"I know, trust me, I know." She shivered. The taste was still in her mouth. "It's why I'm going to ask Wynne for some scrolls that have theory on using the fade as a way to make magic bloom without the use of lyrium."

He nodded, and glanced to Alistair. "Sense any more of them?"

"No," Alistair drew out the word. He was kneeling by one of the genlocks, and shuffling a jumble of vials in his hands, bringing each up to press under a dripping wound. "However, I don't think we should tarry here much longer. If the map's right, the tower should just be over that ridge."

"There's a lot of ridges." Brosca grunted. "How do you surfacers navigate all this openness?"

"Talent." Alistair laughed and stood up. "I think." His weapon was sheathed as well, the vials tucked away, and he took point as they crested the ridge.

Sure enough, stretched out before them was an overgrown ruin that the Wilds wasn't quite yet finished with the reclaiming process. If there was anything beyond crumbling stones, it was long gone, destroyed by the elements. Except for a chest in the center, tucked up against the far wall, still viewable even though the sun was dipping further into the horizon.

"Oh no…" Alistair hurried to the chest. "No, oh this isn't good."

The lock was broken, the wood was rotted, the chest was empty.

Surana knelt next to him. "Maybe… maybe they just got scattered. This place looks like it hasn't seen activity in a while. Let's—"

"Shush." Mahariel stared up into the shattered staircase to the higher floor. "Someone approaches."

The company turned, weapons drawn, as a woman stepped into view. "Well, well, what have we here?" Her hair was as dark as a raven's wing. The sunset cast a bloody tint to her skin as she moved with the grace of a stalking cat down towards them. "Are you vultures, I wonder? Scavengers poking amidst a corpse whose bones were long since cleaned?" Surana could feel the tingle of power surrounding the newcomer. Mahariel and Cousland were closest to her and they shuffled around her as she strode into their midst, seemingly unaware of the danger she was walking into. "Or merely an intruder, come into these darkspawn-filled Wilds of mine in search of easy prey?" She stopped before Surana, a sculpted eyebrow lifted in question.

"What say you, hmm? Scavenger or intruder?" But before Surana could speak, Aeducan did. His tone belied a history of public speaking and taking command. If this affected the wilder woman, she didn't reveal it.

"I would first know who you are and where you come from."

The woman laughed. "You are the intruder here. I believe the first question is rightfully mine." She side-stepped him easily and moved to hop onto a broken pillar. "I have watched your progress for some time. 'Where do they go,' I wondered, 'why are they here?"

Alistair leaned in close to whisper to Surana. "Don't answer her. She looks Chasind, and that means others may be nearby."

"Oh, you fear barbarians will swoop down upon you?" She smirked, sweeping her arms out.

"Yes, swooping is bad." Alistair frowned. "Still, be careful."

"You there." The Chasind pointed to Surana, who stepped forward. She sensed the men circling around her in response, shielding her in case there were other Chasind nearby. "Women do not frighten like little boys. Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine." She waited patiently, her golden eyes reminding Surana of a cat's.

Surana glanced to Alistair, who shook his head mutely. Well, he was a templar, he had been trained to not trust apostates, or even any mage in general. She looked back to the newcomer. "I am Neria. A pleasure to meet you."

"Now that is a proper civil greeting, even here in the Wilds." The woman smiled. "You may call me Morrigan." She waved her hand in the general direction of the broken chest. "Shall I guess your purpose? You sought something in that chest, something that is here no longer?"

" 'Here no longer?'" Alistair pushed forward. "You stole them didn't you? You're … some kind of … sneaky… witch thief!" His insult fell flat.

Morrigan offered up a twist of her lips that was more sneer than smile. "How very eloquent. How does one steal from dead men?"

"Quite easily, it seems. Those documents are Grey Warden property, and I suggest you return them."

"I will not, for 'twas not I who removed them." She batted at the air in front of her. "Invoke a name that means nothing here any along if you wish; I am not threatened."

"Then who removed them?" Aeducan asked.

"'Twas my mother, in fact."

"Can you take us to her?" Tabris asked, finally piping in. She straightened from her crouch near the chest and wiped her hands on her tunic.

"There's a sensible request. I like you."

Tabris grinned in response. Alistair scoffed. "I'd be careful. First it's 'I like you…' but then 'Zap!' Frog Time." He blinked innocently at her when she gave him an incredulous look. "What?"

"You …speaking from personal experience, there?" She asked slowly, still giving him the look.

"Yes, well, no, well, it was more Tomas being the hoppy-green frog and me pleading for my life to not end as frog-leg stew; please stop looking at me like that."

"Follow me, then, if it pleases you."

***

The sun had long-since disappeared into the Frostback range by the time Morrigan had escorted them back from the small hut deep in the Wilds to the army encampment.

Her mother had been an old woman who also crackled with strange magic that Surana had never experienced, but she had seemed harmless; even a little lost in her own mind. Still, she had protected the treaties and had urged them to warn Duncan.

"What will happen to you and your mother, if this is an actual Blight?" Tabris followed close to Morrigan's heels.

"I do not know. Mother's magics will protect us for some time, then maybe we will move away from the darkspawn. Maybe your king will win the battle and save the day." Morrigan didn't bother giving the elf a glance. She stopped on a slight incline that was topped with the wooden palisade of the Ostagar encampment. "I have done my duty and you are all safely tucked back into your little camp."

"Thank you, Morrigan." Surana offered her hand. Morrigan stared at it like it was a snake. Surana pulled it back and coughed, slightly embarrassed. "Er, take care of yourself?"

"'Tis what I always do." There was a shimmer of purple light, and in the place of the Chasind was a large wolf. The animal stared at them a moment longer, then dashed into the Wilds.

"Come, Duncan's probably waiting for us." Alistair eased through the small crowd and headed into the camp. Behind them, the forest begin to glow with an eerie red light.

* * *

**Author's Note: ** Once again, thank you for the reviews, even the short "cool story" ones make an author squeal with happiness at someone enjoying the work as much as she's enjoying writing it.

I know the weakest point of my writing is action-based scenes, so if anyone has tips or critiques, please point them out (but nicely!)


	6. Tabris: Warden

**Tabris: Joining**

A fortnight ago, she had been tucked up into one of the back tables of the makeshift local Alienage tavern with her cousins, joking about and toasting to their upcoming nuptials and the transition from child to adult. A week ago, she had been fleeing for her life, her dress stained crimson from a noble's blood and her cousin's plead to just keep running forever seared into her hearing. Now she was standing in the remains of a temple attached to the Ostagar ruins, waiting for Duncan to complete what remained of the Joining Ritual and induct her and several others into the prestigious order.

She was in the center of the group, crouched while she watched the shems talk amongst themselves. They were nervous, the knight most of all. His palms were sweaty, she had noticed the streaks left as he had grabbed for his polished armor after they had cleaned off the grime from the Wild's exploration. His eyes kept shifting from her, to Daveth, to the entrance ramp where Duncan and Alistair were somewhere beyond.

"Relax, Ser Knight," Daveth reached out to clap him on the shoulder, but was shrugged away. "Just one more little test and we can go sign the Grey Warden documents, eh?"

"More tests?" Ser Jory's eyes were locked on the ramp again. It was almost like he was trying to will Duncan to appear. "Haven't we proven ourselves enough? If I had known—"

"If you are so frightened, then return to your village, Shemlen." Mahariel spoke from his perch on an overlooking ledge.

"I am not frightened, I am just tired of jumping through hoop after hoop like a trained Orlesian dog." Jory glared up to where Mahariel was. "Aren't you?"

"If I don't complete the ritual, I die." He responded matter-of-factly. "So, whatever Duncan asks of me to do, I will do. Perhaps it is merely your own commitment that is lacking."

"If you were a Ser, I would call out your slander against my honor!" Jory's hand went to the hilt of his sword. Tabris jumped up and danced out of the way as the larger knight crossed the dais. She made a face as he went by and settled down a bit further away.

"Funny how they talk about honor." Brosca muttered. She met Tabris' gaze and jerked her chin to the bickering pair. "Like it actually means anything to anyone without a fancy title."

"Considering that in a few minutes, you'll have the 'fancy title' of Grey Warden, shouldn't we also be bickering about whose got the most honor?" Tabris canted her head and grinned when Brosca snorted. "Just one of those observations!"

"We had the coffee a few candlemarks ago, shouldn't your excitability have worn off by now?"

Tabris shook her head. "Mother said my cheerful nature is a gift from the Maker himself and that to never squander it."

"Of course your mother said that, she has to like you." Brosca's eyes clouded with emotion, but it faded before Tabris could point it out. "You have to be young."

"Just turned sixteen a few months ago."

"That young?" Brosca blinked.

"I'm old enough to fight, and that is what's going to matter from now on." Tabris sniffed and turned away from Brosca to see how the bickering was playing out behind her. She was grateful for the distraction that the two were providing, though it was more like Ser Jory was providing while Mahariel prodded him when the fire seemed to cool.

"At last we come to the Joining," Duncan's voice cut through the party like a sword, swiftly ending the bickering. The eight of them turned in unison to watch him approach up the ramp, a silver goblet held reverently in his hands. Alistair walked a few paces behind him, and to the right. They moved through the center up to an old, eroded stone table. He placed the cup down on the table, and he spoke much like the words themselves were ritual. "The Grey Wardens were founded during the First Blight, when humanity stood on the verge of annihilation.

Alistair stopped near Brosca as Duncan turned to face the recruits. "So it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood and mastered their taint—"

"We're …going to drink the blood of those … those creatures?" Ser Jory's face paled.

"As the first Grey Wardens did before us, as we did before you. **This** is the source of our power and our victory. Those who survive the Joining become immune to the taint. We can sense it in the darkspawn and use it to slay the Archdemon." Here, he paused, and a glimmer of regret came over his expression. "Not all who drink the blood will survive and those who do are forever changed. This is why the Joining is a secret. It is the price we pay." He picked up the goblet; "we speak only a few words prior to the Joining, but these words have been said since the first. Alistair, if you would?"

Alistair's head bent, and his eyes closed in prayer. "Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand, vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn." He looked up and met all of their eyes. "And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten and that one day we shall join you."

Duncan nodded, and stood before Mahariel. The command to drink from the goblet was silent, and the Dalish did not hesitate to take the cup from Duncan. It hovered for a moment against Mahariel's lips, and then the ranger tilted it forward and took the taint into him. Duncan took the cup back as Mahariel collapsed to the ground, wordless sounds of agony and pain escaping his throat. He looked up, searching for someone that did not stand before him, and then slumped against the stone.

"From this moment forth, Theron Mahariel, you are a Grey Warden." Duncan stepped sideways to Cousland, holding out the cup once more. "From this moment forth, Aedan Cousland, you are a Grey Warden."

Tabris had placed herself at the far end of the line. The warmth from Alistair standing so close, along with Ser Jory backing up into her were enough to block the fierce wind that was flowing down the mountain ranges into the open temple. She turned her face into Alistair's splint mail-clad chest as Cousland grunted and slipped to his knees. She didn't want to go through that; if she closed her eyes and wished it away it would be so. Alistair patted her hair and pulled her gently away from his chest. He gave her a small smile and then turned her to watch as Aeducan took the cup.

"From this moment forth, Duran Aeducan, you are a Grey Warden

Daveth was next. He watched as Aeducan slumped against the pillar behind him, his usual placid expression wracked with distress. Tabris looked on as Daveth's hands shook as he struggled to force himself to drink the contents within the cup. He gagged as he drank, and with a shove placed the cup back into Duncan's grip.

Then it all went so wrong.

Tabris clapped a hand to her mouth as Daveth let out a wordless scream and threw his head back with such violence that she could hear the popping of vertebrae from where she was. His hands clenched into fists and he thrashed about like a dog in its death throes. His hands clamped against his temples and he let loose a low keening wail that pierced the still air surrounding the wardens. He dropped to a knee, his hands now clawing against the flesh of his face and he glared up at Duncan with the same soulless, white eyes that the darkspawn bore.

Duncan stood still as Daveth reached once for his armor, twice for him, then slumped dead against the stone. "I am sorry Daveth." He stepped over Daveth's arm and handed the cup to Brosca.

The dwarf took the cup with a swift grab, her eyes giving away the nervousness that was tucked behind her arrogant exterior. She didn't glance to the cooling body alongside her as she swigged the darkspawn blood much like it was just another pint of ale.

Tabris couldn't see what happened to Brosca; Ser Jory had backed fully into her, sending her stumbling against a broken piece of rubble. She winced as her hand scraped over the rough stone. The Highever knight whispered disbelief as Brosca issued a guttural curse and then spoke no more.

Tabris ducked under Jory's arm, casting an upward glare to him as she went to see if the dwarf was still breathing. She was, her body rising and falling with shallow breaths.

"From this moment forth, Natia Brosca, you are a Grey Warden." Duncan nodded and turned to Surana. The white-haired elf stared at him before she took the cup. She didn't drink, not yet, but watched the swirl of the contents within.

"This is Blood Magic, isn't it?" She whispered. Duncan gave a curt nod in response. "Blood Magic is what condemned me to this fate," Surana laughed; bitterness ringing in her words. "I suppose it's only fitting that it ushers me along the final steps as well, no?"

Duncan didn't give the question a response, but only looked on in silence as Surana brought the cup to her lips and drank of the blood. When she crumbled to her knees, he watched her for a moment longer; "From this moment forth, Neria Surana, you are a Grey Warden." He gently took the cup from her quivering hands, her eyes glazed with a white sheen as she watched something unseen play out before her.

Duncan offered the cup now to Ser Jory, who shook his head and stumbled back further, this time coming to a stop when Alistair clasped a hand about his wrist. "No, this is wrong!"

"There is no turning back," Duncan warned. He stepped forward and offered the cup once more. Jory slapped a hand out, nearly knocking the contents out over the stone floor. Duncan's expression hardened. "This is what must be done."

"I have a wife, a child!" Ser Jory yanked free of Alistair's hold and reached for his greatsword. Tabris ducked away as the sword was freed with a ringing of steel just where she'd been crouched. "I will not go through with this, you're all mad!"

"I'm sorry, Ser Jory." Duncan handed the cup to Alistair and reached for a long dagger that ended in a wicked curve. He advanced on the trembling knight, the dagger held just to the side, ready to counter any attack the knight might foolishly attempt.

Which Ser Jory did. Tabris didn't know if the knight was reacting out of pure fear, or if he truly thought if he struck at Duncan, the man would relinquish him from the Joining and send him away. He didn't have enough room to swing the sword up fast enough and it was knocked away easily by a quick parry from Duncan. Then, as he made to disarm the Warden-Commander, his eyes widened as the dagger slipped past the protection of his armor and plunged deep into his gut. Duncan pulled away as blood seeped from the wound and dripped on the floor. Jory held a disbelieving look. He clutched at his stomach, dropping to a knee.

"I have a wife …" he whispered, blood pooling at the edge of his mouth. He still looked shocked. "I have a child…" he trailed off as blood gurgled in his throat. He fell forward and barely caught himself with his free hand. He coughed blood, the crimson splattering against the grey stonework, seeping down through the cracks. He glanced weakly upward to an impassive Duncan. "I had a child…" he collapsed.

Tabris knew her face betrayed her inner horror as Duncan wiped his dagger clean and tucked it loosely at his side. He reclaimed the goblet from Alistair and advanced on her. The last of the recruits. "The Joining is not yet over," he explained. His eyes were steely; it was obvious he wouldn't pause to end her as he had done to Ser Jory to protect the Warden's secrets.

This is what she had wanted? This was what her mother had trained her for, both openly with the other cousins and in secret, when the human guards marched through the Alienage to ease the nobles' minds when they thought the elves were becoming too uppity. This was nothing like how the stories went, and how the hero started on the journey.

"Take the cup," Alistair whispered.

Tabris gulped and took the goblet from Duncan. Her eyes danced briefly over the gleam of the dagger at his hip and then she closed her eyes. She brought the cup up to her lip and was shocked that the darkspawn blood was still warm. The heat brushed against her face and the smell urged her to gag. The longer she kept the cup hovering there, the more her mind screamed for her to throw it down and flee into the night away from this madness.

She tilted it all the way up to finish off the mixture.

Tabris hadn't realized the true meaning of pain until it wracked through her body. She gasped and the rush of air from her lungs felt like fire licking at her throat from the inside. Torment seeped deep into her bones until it was impossible to keep her footing. She fell in a heap to the ground, the smack of her head against the stone a gentle kiss compared to the agony ripping her apart from her spine outward. She wanted to claw at her skin, to reach deep enough to grab the tendrils of pain that slithered through her bloodstream and rip them clear from her body. When the pain touched her eyes, she threw her head back like a horse bucking the reins. Above her, a sneering Vaughn offered forty gold. She could hear Shianni's heart wrenching sobbing in her ear, as if she was just beside her.

Vaughn reached out to her and he warped and twisted until a monstrous beast stared down at her with hungry, soulless white eyes. It screeched a command that hurt her to hear it, and it drooled white-hot spittle down over her face.

_I see you Kallian Tabris_

She tried to scream, tried to lift her arms to block the beast from watching her, from knowing her from her first days to tonight's dark ritual but found herself lacking the willpower to do anything but curl into a fetal position and just wish for the pain to end. When all her senses failed her and she fell into the sweet embrace of unconsciousness, she welcomed it.

The last memory she had of the Joining was Duncan welcoming her into the Grey Warden Order.

* * *

A/N: Orginally, this chapter was supposed to encompass the Ostagar battle and the second meeting with Flemeth, but I realized that there was no possible reason for Loghain and Calian to send all seven junior Grey Wardens just to light a beacon. So, as I pondered how to make the first break from the game proper, I realized that it would need it's own chapter, so Tabris' debut was cut shorter than I hoped for. No matter, though!

As always, I love the reviews coming in and the questions I'm being asked over the PM system. Even the bets on who's going to end up with who! Even Alistair's inserted himself into the running (though I keep telling him he's got enough fangirls and doesn't need yet another story where it honestly doesn't make sense for a romance with him to take place) and I need to come up with some sort of prize or something to award those folks who guess correctly when the unveiling comes up.

Again, please read and review! I love hearing your thoughts and opinions!


	7. Aeducan: Ostagar

**Aeducan: Ostagar**

When Aeducan awoke, after the drink had finished twisting whatever it wished to twist inside of him, he reached out for Gorim. When his vision focused and all he saw were the concerned faces of Alistair and Duncan, panic washed over him. He had met every milestone of his life with his Second by his side and without him; it truly drove home how much of an exile he was. He pushed away Alistair's offered hand and clambered up to his feet. "That was quite the experience."

"The others are awake." Alistair said, pointing to where Brosca and Cousland sat, both of them with a dazed expression that Aeducan remembered most of Orzammar's political prisoners wore after an interrogation.

"That was unexpected." Aeducan rubbed at his temple, using the motion to cover up his earlier lapse of decorum.

"The Joining affects all of us differently; some, like Mahariel will take to it easily, others like the young elf will be out for a little while longer."

"Not too much longer, I hope. When I went to fetch the water Loghain gave me an evil look." Alistair stopped for a moment, "of course, it could also be that I'm a dashing young knight and he's … right." He cut off when Duncan gave him a stern glance. "Quiet, that's me." He smiled sheepishly to Duncan before the older Warden shook his head and headed down the darkened ramp.

The others stood up when Aeducan approached them. Mahariel held out a water skin which the dwarf took thankfully. When he had taken his fill, he let some drizzle into his palm and splashed it over his face. Now that he felt more alert, he handed it back to the Dalish and took in the aftermath of the Joining. Against the far wall, near where a tree was slowly breaking through the old stone by uprooting through the blocks was a dark splash across it. Lying haphazardly along the floor was the greatsword that Ser Jory had favored. "Not all of us made it, I see." He bent over to prop the sword up against the wall.

Mahariel shook his head.

Aeducan straightened. "Who made it?"

"Your dwarven companion, the shemlen lord, and the two flat-ears."

"Daveth?"

"Dead." Mahariel stated bluntly.

"Ser Jory?"

Mahariel waited a moment, and then pointed towards Tabris. Aeducan glanced once more at the Dalish for confirmation, and then approached the trembling elf sitting away from the others.

"Miss?" He stretched out a hand to tap on her shoulder. With a movement almost too quick to be seen, Tabris whirled and unsheathed her dagger, bringing it up in a guard position.

Aeducan reacted just as quickly; the training of the deadly court intrigues of Orzammar well-versed in his head. When Tabris made no move beyond the initial rise of the dagger, Aeducan lowered his sword but kept it unsheathed. "Are you all right?"

"No." Tabris whispered, the trembles still moving through her body. "No," she repeated. She took a shaky breath and lowered her own dagger. It hanged loosely in her grip. Her mouth twisted in a grimace, as if she wasn't sure of what she was about to say, but the clank of armor cut her off before she could begin. Her eyes darted guiltily to meet his before she flitted away.

"Ah, good, you are all awake." Duncan sounded pleased. He held a small, well-crafted wooden box that had the griffon rampart burned into the top. "It's tradition, after a Joining, to take some of that blood and place it into vials for the new Wardens. These are yours." He opened the box and six pendants caught the moonlight, gleaming silver. "Welcome to the Order."

Cousland took his first, holding up the chain so the tiny tear-shaped vial spun and twirled on the end. "My thanks, Duncan." He put it on, and tucked the vial underneath his armor. The rest gathered theirs, and Aeducan collected his. As he slipped it over his hair and tucked it properly under his beard he realized that the vial pulsated warmth.

"The King has requested that the seven of you come with me to the final strategy meeting before the battle."

"Us?" Brosca scowled. "What's that pretty boy want to do with us?"

"He is Fereldan's King, and our strongest ally. It would be wise to not call him such from now on."

"Huh, no noble born whelp ever much cared if a Duster called them anything before, they'll certainly not start now."

"Perhaps," Duncan said wryly, "but if a Grey Warden said the same things, there'd probably be a few frowns."

"Grey Warden?" Brosca blinked and looked down to the vial at her breast. "Oh. Oh right. Huh." She touched it again, this time a bit more reverently than the casual sling she had used to put it on. "Never been anything but a duster before."

"Now, when you're ready; follow me." He closed the box and handed it to Alistair. Without a backwards glance to see if they followed, he headed down the ramp.

Down the ramp, across the shadowed hall, and into the circle of torchlight that splashed over a long wooden table holding more than a few maps and battle plans, the Wardens approached the King's party to a hale greeting from the King himself.

"I hear congratulations are in order!" He beamed, gesturing for them to step up into the circle made up by those already standing there. "Come in, come in! I'd love to have Grey Warden eyes on the strategy."

"Your Majesty," a tall and imposing man started. His dark eyes were shadowed by the torchlight, but that did little to hide the intensity in that gaze. "I implore you to reason—"

"If you're so set on waiting, Loghain, perhaps I should just wait for Celene's chevaliers to arrive after all. They're only a week's march from here and I'm more than sure she'd be happy to aid Ferelden."

Loghain's mouth set in a grim line, and the glare he gave the king was something dark and hollow. "How fortunate Maric didn't live to see his son hand this country back over to those who oppressed it."

"Then our current forces will have to suffice, won't they?" King Cailan smirked in bitter victory, "and you'll do well to remember who is King here."

Loghain opened his mouth to retort, but a gloved hand rested on his forearm. "M'lord, perhaps we should move on with the plans." A tall woman with dark hair and darker eyes stood to Loghain's right. Her shield bore the heraldry of a wyvern rampant and Aeducan made a mental note to speak with Cousland about the symbols of each Ferelden noble house.

"Ah, Ser Cautherine, as always we can rely on you for reason and temperance when the natures of men run hot-blooded." King Cailan flashed the woman a dazzling smile, one that she took with a nod of acknowledgement, but nothing more.

She is more loyal to her lord, than her own king, Aeducan thought. He tucked that slip of insight away as the humans began to discuss the upcoming battle and the tactics they would use to push back the encroaching darkspawn once and for all.

It wasn't anything new for Aeducan. Flanking and ambushing, waiting for signals, bait to lure them in. All of it he had heard in the throne room as his father and brother met with commander after faceless commander to work up the latest plan to keep the darkspawn from Orzammar's gates.

"Now, for the Tower of Ishal. Are the reports true, Loghain? Darkspawn have been sighted in the lower tunnels?"

"Not exactly, your Majesty." Loghain replied as he unfurled a map detailing a giant structure. "Each smaller tunnel leads into a central crossroads, here." He tapped his finger over a circled area. "My men are preparing to head in and force a cave-in, so the darkspawn cannot swarm up to flank our camp while we fight in the valley below."

"No, indeed we cannot." King Cailan stroked his chin with a hand then nodded. "Send in the Grey Wardens! Who else to have at our backs, protecting us from any unforeseen harm than them?"

"Is it wise—" Loghain started and then cut himself off with a grimace as the King turned to address Duncan.

"Do you not agree, Duncan?"

Duncan weighed his words before he spoke in a measured, unassuming voice. "While Grey Wardens are suited for fighting the darkspawn, yes; if the Teryn already has his men travelling down to block the tunnel, then I am sure he needs no other assistance."

"Nonsense!" the King chuckled, "you are too modest, Duncan. It would be a perfect tale to spin around the Landsmeet when this is over; how the Grey Wardens charged in the fray and stood strong and vigilant at the flanks. It's decided."

Duncan gave a quick glance to Alistair, and grabbed the younger man's shoulder before he could speak up. "As you say, your Majesty."

"Excellent!" King Cailan clapped his hand on Duncan's shoulder and beamed to Aeducan and the others. Aeducan didn't return the smile. Defending darkspawn in the deep dark was something he'd done for years without the orders of a human king before being a Grey Warden, and he was certain he'd still fight in those dark tunnels long after this war was over. It was the dwarven way. "This will be our moment of glory."

"Yes, your Majesty. A glorious moment for us all," Loghain agreed, ducking his head in a bow. "I must prepare my men for their charge." He pulled back from the maps and marched towards the tents and campfires Aeducan could make out on the hills to the west of Ostagar. Ser Cautherine's bow was much more formal before she followed her liege to the camp. Neither of them gave the Wardens a second glance.

"Well, that went well." Cousland muttered as Duncan led them away from the table after gathering the sketched maps that the scouts had made of the tunnels.

Duncan's instructions to them followed Loghain's own tactics for the most part, but where Loghain pushed for ambushing and guerilla tactics, Duncan cautioned for a strong front line and the endurance to last waves upon waves of attacks. It would be impossible for the Grey Wardens to lay a trap for the Darkspawn in those tunnels, with the Joining; they were as much a part of that hive mind as the fiends were.

Finally, Duncan smiled. It was a tired smile, but there were hints of pride within it. "You are Grey Wardens now," he began. "Though right now I know it means little to you beyond a title—" he waved off Alistair's protest before it could even begin. "—and that title means little beyond mere words. However," he stopped and clasped his hands over the hilts of his swords and drew them. "It will come to mean something much more to each of you in the battles to come. Know that you are now the only line of defense when it comes to the Blights. Understand that in this Brotherhood, you are worth so much more than you ever were in your previous lives. The past is gone. Look to your futures, and may your every battle be well-fought."

He clasped Alistair's forearm. "They are your men now, Alistair."

Alistair looked back to them and then gave a solemn nod to Duncan. "We will hold the line so the beacon can be lit."

"Good man."

And with that, Duncan was gone; disappeared in the growing mass of soldiers and knights making the trek down to the valley floor below.

Alistair didn't turn back to them until the encampment was nearly empty. His expression was worried, and Aeducan winced as that lack of confidence rippled through the small band. He could hear Tabris take a quick breath, and if he looked, her face would reflect Alistair's nerves. Brosca and Mahariel both snorted, and it was clear that they would probably ignore any orders that the Templar commanded of them.

Cousland stayed quiet, though, his thoughts well-hidden as Alistair approached them. The mage, Surana, was silent as well, though her hands twisted at the belt of her robes.

"Right then, err, you heard Duncan. It's just a simple task of blocking tunnels and paying guard until the battle's over." Alistair coughed. "Let's get moving, shall we?"

The company trudged over the long bridge after their final preparations had been set. Around them, archers hurried to positions, their arrows coated in slick oil to be lighted before the first volley. Aeducan caught glimpses of the faces. Most of them were young, younger than how he must have looked leading that first fight down into the Deep Roads.

Even Ferelden sends her children to die on her behalf, Aeducan thought. He was nudged aside by another archer, then by Brosca. She pushed at his arm again. "Yes?"

"Feeling the heat?"

"Wondering at how similar war is, no matter which rider holds the reins."

Aeducan patted her shoulder. She looked good dressed in the tempered leather armor they had purchased. "Don't worry about the boy being barely a man yet. He led us well in the Wilds."

"Against patrols and scouts—"

"Which should be all that attempts to breach the tower. You heard Duncan, the darkspawn are attracted to the Grey Wardens. The two dozen in the valley below will be far more interesting target for the Horde; not six freshly Joined Wardens with a Junior Member at the head." He jerked his chin in the direction of Alistair, who was standing at the edge of the bridge, staring down into the valley below. "Give him the same trust you gave me in the tunnels and we'll make it through this."

"Harder to do so when he's the perfect image of a scared nug before the butcher's axe." She let out a long sigh and then finally nodded. "Fine, fine. But if I meet the Stone down there, I'll not speak to you ever again."

"I'll hold you to that."

"Maker's Breath, it's started."

Everyone responded to Alistair's whisper. They looked down into the valley below as a surge of nightmarish creatures crawled out from the mists of the Kocari Wilds and covered the entirety of the southern land beyond the forest.

"We don't have the men to contest with that…" Cousland muttered. "How did they lure them for a new battle?"

"A Grey Warden technique. It's something that the really old ones can do. Call to them, or keep them at bay." Alistair explained, his eyes riveted to the scene before them as the archers began unleashing their volleys into the horde.

"You are not capable of this?" Mahariel sidestepped an archer running back to the far side of the bridge, grabbing a fresh quiver.

"No."

Brosca ducked under Cousland's arm to watch the battle join. She grunted once as the dogs charged out first and then yelped as Cousland pushed away from the wall, nearly knocking her over in the process

"Sarim." His voice cracked. "We need to go back to the kennels."

"What?" Alistair frowned. "Why?"

"Sarim is there. Sarim!" Cousland spun on his heel and ran back the way they were supposed to come. Alistair lunged and caught the hem of his cloak. "Let me go!"

"You can't go back that way!" Alistair shouted, yanking back on the fabric. A terrible rip sounded over the bridge. "Your servant will be fine; he's probably with the priests in the—AH!" He yelped, not expecting Cousland to turn so quickly and shove so forcefully. When Alistair slammed against the railing, he tossed the noble a glare. "We've got a job to do!"

"I will not. Leave. Sarim." Cousland breathed hard through his nose, staring down at Alistair. "Stop me again and I'll kill you." He pointed at Alistair for added emphasis and turned about again.

Aeducan helped the templar back to his feet, ducking instinctively as a boulder crashed into the bridge's support below them. The stone groaned from the damage. "You all right?"

"Yeah, it'll take more than a noble boy pouting about losing a servant to get the better of me." Alistair shrugged his shoulder, wincing as it made a popping sound.

Brosca and Tabris stood at the far edge of the bridge, away from the front where darkspawn arrows bounced off the stone like rain. "Can we have these manly discussions on solid ground?" Brosca asked, ducking as a boulder overshot its mark and sailed over their heads. Her words did nothing to hide the fact that the idea of standing on a bridge hundreds of yards above a battlefield that has one side launching flaming boulders at the other was her idea of a bad time. She waited for the next boulder to hit home, shaking the bridge, and then darted after Cousland.

"Duncan said to get to the Tower!" Alistair yelled even as he chased after the dwarven rogue. Surana gripped her staff tightly as she picked her way through the ever-growing debris field, and around fallen archers.

Aeducan grumbled a curse and forged his way after the three wayward companions. He couldn't shove away the tiny surge of relief from being on firm ground, though. He found Cousland deep into the camp, beyond the kennel cage gate. The man was going from cage to cage, shouting for his mabari.

Aeducan caught him as he stepped out of the central kennel intent on heading into the next sector. "Aedan." He spoke simply.

"I will not leave him." Cousland didn't turn to face him, but he did stop. His shoulders quaked slightly in the torchlight. "You spoke of Gorim, how you wanted to find him in Denerim once we had left Ostagar. I had promised to take you there, but first I must ask you to let me find my Second."

Aeducan nodded. He approached the taller man and extended his arm. "I will." Cousland reached out and clasped forearms with him, and they shook on that promise. When they stepped back, Aeducan took a closer look at the kennels. "How smart is Sarim, exactly?"

Cousland gave him a backward glance as he moved up into the central clearing. Behind Aeducan, the footsteps of their fellow Wardens bounced off the desolate ruins. "Rumor says that a mage first bred them to understand any order he'd give, and that with each new order, the commands grew so complex that even a fellow mage couldn't follow, but the mabari could."

"So they've got intelligence." Aeducan grunted, and then looked at the kennels in a new light. "So, Sarim would come to wherever you are?"

"Unless he's trapped or I've commanded him to stay?" Cousland leaned against the fence. His eyes betrayed the worry that his posture tried to hide. "Yes."

"They wouldn't have taken him down into the valley with the others?" Aeducan continued.

"No. A mabari imprints on one owner. If anyone else tried to force the dog, they'd lose a hand—Andraste's backside, where could he have got off to… wait." He leaned forward to study the fence across from him and knelt down before it.

Aeducan cocked his head; had he just heard something? As Cousland investigated whatever caught his attention, Aeducan turned to try and pinpoint that sound. He saw the others waiting near the bridge. They were chatting amongst themselves, but that wouldn't explain the noise.

There it was again! Aeducan scowled and unsheathed his sword, the steel ringing out as he drew the blade. He noticed Mahariel giving him a questioning look, but the ranger retrieved his bow and loosely nocked an arrow. When the others saw Mahariel go into motion, they too readied for battle. But what battle? Aeducan felt foolish. He knew that the darkspawn were being lured from the front, and that there might be worry about them breaking up through the tower's tunnels, but still, worry gnawed at his thoughts.

He turned, moving past Cousland, deeper into the encampment. As he topped the incline to the upper parts, the sound came a third time, and it was clearer. It was barking.

"Aedan!" He shouted for Cousland even as he worked up into a run. He slid a bit across the loose rock as he rushed towards the dog he could barely make out through the thick brush. "Sarim!" He called out to the mabari.

Sarim stopped mid-bark to observe Aeducan vault over a boulder. He let out a sharp bark, a quick greeting and acknowledgement that the dwarf was a friend, and then returned his attention to staring out over the ravine. He whined.

Aeducan followed the dog's gaze. "By the Stone…"

"What? Sarim? Is Sarim ok?" Cousland brushed by Aeducan and dropped to his knees by the mabari. "There you are! I looked all …over … for you." Cousland trailed off, seeing what the other two were looking at.

The ravine had been fortified to block against even the strongest surge that the darkspawn horde could muster through the southern channel. Ostagar's position in the rocky cliffside meant that unless one travelled miles to either side, they wouldn't find another feasible path up from the Wilds into the Hinterlands. The defense was secure enough for the king's strategy.

However, as Aeducan watched the rock ripple half a kilometer from the exposed flanks of the Grey Wardens and the army below, he realized that they had not taken into account that the Darkspawn could travel under the ground.

The tower was never the darkspawn's methods of flanking the army. When the first dark shadow burst forth from the new sinkhole, Aeducan gripped his sword tighter to ease out the fear that had struck him.

"We need to block that hole." He said, his voice hoarse. "Look," he pointed to the cliffside above it. "That rock's unstable, probably from whatever means of digging the darkspawn do. If we can trigger a rock fall, it would bury their flanking forces underneath it. Even a darkspawn can't just shrug off a cave-in."

Cousland looked to the crumbling rock and uneven cliff face Aeducan had pointed out. "Are you certain that would work?"

"If we don't try, that army will be crushed." Aeducan looked to Sarim. "Your mabari must have been looking for you and saw that."

Cousland ran a hand over the bristle-fur at Sarim's shoulders and stood up. "Shouldn't the Wardens have sensed the darkspawn behind them? Even hear plans through the hive-mind?"

"Remember what Duncan and Alistair said? The Grey Wardens are new here in Ferelden." Aeducan pushed himself back over the boulder he had jumped when looking for Sarim. "They might not have anyone old enough to understand whatever speech the darkspawn use."

Cousland grumbled a reluctant agreement to that. "I bet you the Grey Wardens Loghain refused to let enter have a few veterans."

Aeducan didn't agree or disagree with that thought. He knew well enough from Bhelen's coup to keep political grumbling quiet until they had the full picture. "What troubles me more is that the darkspawn had a plan." He glanced back over his shoulder. "They shouldn't have thought of that." He stared as a few more figures pushed out of the ground and turned to see five Wardens staring at him and Cousland for answers.

***  
A/N: I know. I'm horrible. It's been at least a month since the last update! I have no defense except for that Six Degrees just kept staring at me from my computer like some angry, disapproving mother-in-law and I avoided her/it out of saving my sanity.

All right, in reality I got caught up in twenty-million other projects and ignored Six Degrees completely. The good news is that chapters eight and nine should be up within the day as well. (I might be trying to make up for the absence). Remember: reviews make the world go 'round.


	8. Brosca: Ambush

**Brosca: ****Ambush**

Natia Brosca figured out why humans were odd as they finally caught up with Cousland and Aeducan. It was all the sky above them that drove them nutters; and she knew she was right because it was affecting her too.

After Aeducan had shown them the flanking attack the darkspawn were preparing, and once Alistair was settled with the fact that they would do far more to aid the battle here than down in the tunnels already protected by Loghain's men; the company found themselves readying for a different battle than the one Duncan had laid out before them.

"If we wanted speed, then we'll have to move along the cliff itself," Mahariel noted as he laid flat over the rocks to stare at the grouping darkspawn. "My Clan traveled near here once, a few years back. Tamriel and I hunted deer along that very cliff. It's cragged and sheer-walled for a good distance."

"Probably so the defenders of Ostagar could stage ambushes even if the fortress itself was overrun." Aeducan grunted and glanced back to the fortress. "Is it possible to move along the cliff itself? Or climb and run?"

"Yes, but not wearing anything heavier than leather, lest you want to alert the entire forest to what you're doing."

Alistair shook his head. "I wouldn't be able to scale it anyways; I was never good with coordinating my hands and eyes with dealing with really high heights and not looking down and going splat. Nope, not my thing. Now slamming darkspawn with my trusty shield on flat ground? That I can do. Point me towards them"

Mahariel gave the templar an odd look but glanced to Brosca and Tabris. "What about you two?"

Tabris was eyeing the rock face. She answered after a few moments pause. "Spent most of my life scrambling over the Alienage walls and back. This is just bigger."

"Think you can scale it?"

She grinned at him. The trepidation from earlier was gone, replaced with an easy smile and bright eyes. "I think I'll be the first to the top."

Brosca let out a small chuckle. She nodded when Mahariel looked at her. "I was born to the Stone, elf. I'll climb."

Aeducan clasped her shoulder and offered a smile when she glanced his way. "We can lure the attention of that squad before they help their compatriots dig their way out. This stone is tough, it's seen many long eons. They must have used abandoned tunnels to manage to dig through to the surface so easily. Block that access point and they'll never have the chance to create another before the night is over-"

"And with the flanking army stuck below ground trying to find another way, it will ease pressure on the King's front." Alistair grinned, voicing the latter part of Aeducan's thoughts.

"Exactly. Our rogues will move above us, pick off any scouts. Mahariel's excellent with the bow; he can cover us from that height." Aeducan gestured and the company left their vantage point. "Once Cousland and Sarim find a passable way into the ravine, we'll head out."

"I will go with the warriors then," Surana spoke up finally. She glanced out to their target. "Though, without magic, how will you collapse the rock?"

Brosca nudged the mage. "You've got lyrium on you, right?"

"Of course. It would be foolish if I went into battle without any way to regain my will."

"Right, right. Thinking ahead and all that." She waved the comment aside. "Do you have any extra? Actually, better even, do you have any lyrium dust?"

Surana gave her a puzzled look. "I could check my bags."

"I can go back to the mage encampment, see if they've got any!" Tabris piped up and slipped up and over the incline before anyone could voice dissent. Brosca watched the spot where the elf had disappeared then looked back when Surana shook her head.

"I only have potions, I'm afraid. Lesser ones." She took out an empty vial and tapped a nail against the glass. "There's some leftover dust, though, is that helpful?"

Brosca took the vial and uncorked it. She sprinkled the dust into her palm and pressed it with her fingers. "No, it's still damp and mixed with something that's changed the mineral." She looked up to see Aeducan watching her and went defensive. "What? Can't a duster know something about the Stone she lives on? We're the ones that find the lyrium veins anyway; not like a noble born would know what it looks like." She bristled even more when he didn't answer. He just kept staring with that appraising look. "Oh, suck a nug would you?" She slapped the vial back into Surana's hand and headed up the incline to wait for Tabris to return.

She didn't have to wait long. When Tabris' head poked over the crumbled debris of an old wall, Brosca went to meet her.

"They left quite a few trinkets behind," Tabris said as a greeting of sorts, handing Brosca a ring that felt warm to the touch. "I think, if I remember the little things that my cousins nicked, not that I nicked anything no, not a proper way to earn a livin' for a lady … at least Father would have tanned my backside and hung it out to dry- oh, right, sorry." She broke off from the tangent with a laugh. "Where was I? Rings! Right, those sort of rings keep the hands steady. Precision in striking and all of that." She gave a half-smile and a shrug. "Anyway, here's the lyrium dust. I remember seeing the templars make a trade with that dwarven merchant you picked your leathers up from." Tabris handed over a small pouch. Sure enough, when Brosca peeked inside, it was filled with lyrium dust.

"Should be enough." Brosca cinched the pouch closed.

"What did you need the dust for?" Tabris walked on her left as they headed back to the others.

"You'll see. Not sure it'll work, but it's worth a shot." Brosca said, knowing that her words were vague. She jogged ahead and nodded to Mahariel. "Got what I needed."

Mahariel looked over to Cousland as the warrior and the mabari reunited with the company at their meeting point. "Find a path?"

"It's steep and slick, but it's a way down without jumping." Cousland patted Sarim's head. "We'll manage."

Mahariel looked to Surana. "Will you be able to keep your footing?"

Surana frowned. "I should be able to, yes."

"Good. They'll need your healing magic." Mahariel slung his bow across his shoulders. He addressed Brosca: "While you went with Tabris, I found where we're going to climb. Are we ready?"

Aeducan nodded. "There's little else we can plan. Stone watch you." He tossed a glance to Brosca and then turned to follow Cousland behind Surana and Alistair as the ravine company made to

Mahariel watched them go. "Creators help us all. Now, let's get climbing." He pointed ahead to the spot he'd picked out. Brosca could see the handholds and footholds jutting out against the cliff. Mahariel went first, the Dalish shimmying up the stone like it was covered in moss and not a direct climb vertical. Tabris glanced to Brosca as the ranger disappeared up over the lip of the rock.

"Think he's part spider?" Tabris asked, eyebrow arched as she waited for Mahariel to reappear and give the signal for the second climber.

"That'd mean you'd be part-spider too," Brosca tossed over her shoulder as she approached the rock wall. Mahariel leaned over and gave the signal. She kept her focus on the rock itself, reciting an old poem she used to whisper to Rita long ago to keep her mind steady. _Don't look up_ she told herself, her hand gripped tightly on a slender outcropping. _Don't look up._ She did not want to glance up and catch sight of that abyss hanging over her head.

When her hand reached up and groped loose gravel and dirt, she faltered until Mahariel secured a grasp about her forearm and helped her hoist herself over the edge. The tall elf made sure she was steady before he turned and signaled for Tabris to make the climb.

It was apparent that the city elf had experience climbing, as she shimmied up the cliff a little slower than Mahariel, but much quicker than Brosca's slow and steady pace. Course, when the elves didn't have to worry about the sky throwing them into vertigo, it was easier to quickly locate a new handhold.

Mahariel helped Tabris over the side too, steadying her on her feet. He waited for the two to pull out their blades, watched on curiously as Tabris pulled a vial of shimmering black fluid that hissed softly as she ran it down the length of her blades. The extract clung to the grooves and indents in the metal. When Tabris was sure the fluid had dried enough to just stick to the blade and not run down over the hilt to her own skin, she nodded to Mahariel.

"Death root extract?" He noted, eyebrow raised.

"Daveth showed me after the skirmishes in the Wilds. 'We're up against creatures that feel no fear, nor do they feel pain'. Poisons that dull the body's reflexes will slip right past that."

"He's right." Mahariel nodded. He gestured along the cliff's edge. "Come, we'll shadow them from up here. I don't expect trouble until we're at the rock fall." His eyes scanned the thinned forest that was on their left. Brosca, out of habit, looked as well. She didn't see any unwelcomed shadows lurking in the dark. The forest was still, save for a large crow perched on a branch that spread out its wings when Brosca peered at it.

They didn't head out until the shadows of their companions were down off the steep path Cousland had discovered. The faint glow from the tip of Surana's staff marked the warriors' progress into the ravine itself. When they started off through the narrow passage, the rouges followed suit, flanking their companions like living statues, deftly darting over the loose rocks at the top.

"Prepare yourselves." Mahariel whispered as the three crouched low behind a shattered tree that had once grown into the cliff but now was just another felled giant in the misty woods. An arrow rested loosely on the bow as he craned his neck up to see where they were going. "We have the creatures up here as well."

"What?" Brosca hissed, popping up to see for herself. Sure enough, the misshapened figures of two genlocks and a hurlock milled about the top of the cliff, patrolling back and forth, speaking sharply in their guttural language. "That's not right. The darkspawn are as mindless as nugs, they don't know how -"

"These ones do." Mahariel stated grimly, pulling the bow string tight. "There's only three of them. If you two move quickly enough, we can take them out at once without alarm."

Brosca nodded, crouching low again. "What if they've got backup for their backup?" Her fingers fumbled in her pouch to pull out the lyrium dust Tabris had collected. "I'll need time, and fire, to make this work. If it'll work. Never tried it on refined lyrium… and Leske did most of the work with the stuff."

"You'll do it." Tabris assured her. "Ready?"

Brosca offered the elf a quick smile, though her mind ran rampant with second-thoughts concerning her plan. Sure, Leske had managed to set explosives with lyrium sand, he'd picked that up fromt hat one dwarf artisan they'd robbed as the man was trading to the surface, but that didn't mean proper lyrium dust would. Still, they were right there and what use was doubt before the task was even tried? "I was born ready, Longears. Let's gut us some genlocks."

Tabris nodded and as one the two rogues vaulted over the trunk. They slunk low to the ground, and Brosca was grateful for the eerie, thick fog that permeated the Kocari Wilds, the mist obscuring their passage as they crept steadily towards the darkspawn. This wasn't like the ambush in the tunnels, where she had froze at the first clash of battle, no, now she expected the waft of rotted flesh that was the stench of the darkspawn. She anticipated the chill of fear that rolled down her spine and used the spike of adrenaline it caused to fuel her lunge onto the genlock's back. The creature sputtered as her dagger sliced deep into the flesh of its throat, ignoring the spray of bitter blood that splashed over her hands, making her grip slippery. Her dagger slide in her gasp and the ring that Tabris had given her pulsed warmth and it was as if the blood was not there. Her grip assured once more, she finished the deep, twisting the blade deep to prevent the creature from having any hope of living past this moment.

Beside her, Tabris had buried one dagger completely into the genlock's back, and the other cut into it's throat. She twisted both different directions and the darkspawn fell to the ground with little more than a death rattling in its lungs.

A gurgled moan was the only indication that Mahariel had fired his arrow. The three guards were down, and with no alarm raised. Brosca sheathed her daggers and moved out to the outreach of rock overhanging the darkspawn below. She leaned out to see what was below them. Flashes of blue healing magic arced high, illuminating a fierce struggle as the warriors pushed the uprising darkspawn back to the tunnel's entrance. She made out Aeducan's solid frame first, his war cry forcing the surrounding darkspawn to take note of him, register him as the highest threat. To his flank, Cousland hollered as he swung the broadsword up into the center of a hurlock, the clap of another spell highlighting the cleaving of the creature as the sword shredded through bone, flesh, muscle and leather. Air whistled past her ear as Mahariel stood at the edge of the cliff nearby, his hands blurring as he unleashed arrow after arrow down into the fray.

Below him, Brosca saw the shadow of a large creature skitter over the jagged rocks. She couldn't make it out. She squinted, tried to see if she could make any more detail out when Tabris' cry forced her to look over her shoulder.

"Stone's piss and tears!" Brosca swore, watching the advancing darkspawn. The beasts snarled, stoking their own bloodlust as they charged through the trees to assault the rogues. "Hold 'em off Kallian!" She yelled, turning her attention back to her job; ignoring the fact that her idleness might have killed them all. By the Stone, she wasn't prepared for this!

Her hands shook as she mixed the lyrium with the gooey, flammable sap of that made up a warmth balm. She ignored the urge to glance up from her work when Tabris emitted another cry that was cut off almost as quickly as it was formed. Brosca's tongue was being torn between her teeth as she used the pain to keep her focus. The dust mixed, she shoved the gooey mess between the weakest points of the stone. She had to hop across one section as the rock crumbled beneath her. She slapped the mixture underneath a final rock, and then jammed that piece into the loose soil. "Ok!" She shouted, not daring to look over her shoulder. "I just need to crack open one of the flame rocks and we'll be good!" She reached for her pouch, her hands slipping just once as the blood made it hard tugging on the strap, even with the ring's dexterity spell. "Shit." She regretted having a pouch made to deter pickpockets and tugged harder, yanking the strap loose.

"Tabris! Emissary!" Mahariel bellowed from further in on the cliff. Brosca's head whipped around and she watched the ranger split his attention between the swarm of genlocks scrambling towards him and the tall emissary throwing a surge of sickly-looking magic at the city-elf. His arrows had no effect, the heads skating across the armor the darkspawn was wearing. He couldn't aim without opening himself up fully to one of the genlocks.

Tabris rolled out of the path of the magic, the spell hitting a tree behind her. The magic sizzled as it ate into the wood. She laughed as the emissary snarled. "Who taught you to aim, you overgrown piece of crud?" She twirled the sword in her left hand, working her wrist in preparation for another move towards the magic-user when fire began to light in it's hand. "Oh, c'mon, fireball's for wimps!"

A flame-rock now in hand, Brosca slammed the butt of her dagger against the gem, cracking it. Heat crackled up from the shattered gem, at first a trickle of warmth, then a torrent of burning pain as the rock interacted with the cool air. "I got it! Just need to throw it-" Brosca's eyes widened, and her voice cut out, when the emissary's fireball leapt from it's hands- and not towards the elf.

"Natia!" Tabris' terrified scream was drowned out in the sudden explosion of light and noise that surrounded Brosca. She vaguely felt the ground disappear under her and she found herself staring up into the abyss above as she flew towards it.

_You really can fall upward into the sky_ she found herself thinking. The blast had flung her back towards Ostagar, and above her, the flare of the tower's beacon came to life. They had managed to buy the King's army the time, the battle was won. Maybe she'd finally get recorded in someone's memories, even if it was a surfacer's history tale. She allowed herself a chuckle and barely noted the sudden wrap and sharp tug as something ropey twisted about her. Her consciousness faded as she slammed against the cliff, a chittering form looming over her as her vision went black.

* * *

A/N: I need to stop having real life preventing me from continuing this story. And yes, a cliffhanger ending. I know, I know, I'm a terrible person but I can't help it. As you can already see, the narrative's deviated from the game's course. Next chapter, Cousland has to lead the Grey Wardens out of the ravine as their assualt on the darkspawn backfires and turns the ravine into their personal deathtrap.

Please review if you have the time! Even just a sentence, or a flame! I always feel happy when I see that people are enjoying this as much as I'm having fun writing it.


	9. Cousland: Retreat

**Cousland: Retreat**

His muscles protested his decision to follow through with each powerful swing. The results were exceptional for driving the darkspawn back, to make the fiends reconsider their own attacks and give the diminished company some breathing room. He pulled his sword back into a guard stance, gore splashing onto the ground he was moving over. He shifted his left, placed his weight on his hip, and spun to bite his sword deep into the gut of a hurlock advancing on his right side.

He twisted the blade and yanked backwards; taking the hurlocks innards back with him. He kept the follow-up by pushing the sword with a powerful thrust into the next hurlock, his boots shifting on the ground as he adjusted to the new position.

Then the world went right-side up and over as the explosion rippled down through the rock, the sheer force of the resulting vibration causing him to stumble to a knee to keep himself from going completely prone. Around him, Alistair used the onslaught of a genlock to shield himself from falling rock. He grunted as the combined weight grew heavier and heavier. With a mighty shout and shove, he pushed both off his shield and dove over the prone form of Surana, the mage haven't had kept her feet during the earth's rumble.

Aeducan was beside Cousland, the dwarf steady and still able to throw out his shield against the jaws and throats of the darkspawn in jarring stuns that left their guard down for a second, quick thrust of his sword. His stand enabled Cousland to regain his footing.

The explosion did its job, the rock face crumbled over the excavation, crushing the emerging darkspawn underneath. The remaining darkspawn that the warriors hadn't pushed back to the tunnel's opening fought with a renewed frenzy, as if they realized how desperate their new predicament was.

Faintly, Cousland heard a scream echo on the winds, but his attention couldn't be diverted, not now when he was needed to press the advantage, to offer Alistair and Surana a chance to return to the fight.

"Ah!" Surana yelped as she used her staff to upright herself. Her right leg buckled, the ankle trembling as the mage's grip became the only thing keeping her up.

"Are you all right?" Alistair reached to brace her but the mage shook her head with a pained expression.

"I'll be fine, Alistair. Help Aedan and Duran." She managed to speak, her voices rough as she ground them out through gritted teeth. She did a hopping sort of twist and flexed her fingers towards Cousland. Blue streaks of magic curled around his shoulders, driving away the exhaustion that had sat there. Refreshed, Cousland dove back into the fray.

Out of the corner of his eye, as he jammed the pommel of his sword against a hurlock's skull, driving the beast down to its knees, a large shape crawled down the cliff, Surana's spells lit up the creature's cargo and Cousland's heart seized in a momentary panic as he recognized that mop of dark hair.

Brosca laid limp in the creatures first two legs, her hair damp from blood streaking down her temple.

"Natia!" Cousland finished off the hurlock. He jumped over another hurlock's struggling form and lifted the sword high for a deadly swing at the creature - a large spider that reared up as he charged. The creature's mandibles spread as the thing hissed a warning, venom dripped from fangs that were longer than Cousland's hands. "Away from her, creature! You'll not have a feast of dwarf flesh tonight!"

He thrust forward with the sword, he aimed for the ropey spider thread that kept Brosca connected to the spider. Surprisingly, the spider allowed him to free the prize. It didn't move to reclaim Brosca as the dwarf fell the last few feet, crumpling on the ground before Cousland.

He gave the spider a glance as he knelt before Brosca. He felt for a pulse, and it was there, but it was a shaky, fluttering pulse that scared him more than any wound could. "Neria!" He called over his shoulder as he pushed Brosca's hair up to see where she'd been struck.

Surana was at his side a moment later, her staff bathing them all in a bluish light. She hadn't seen the shadow of the spider yet, Cousland thought, as her attention went immediately to the unconscious dwarf. As she tended to Brosca, Cousland returned his gaze to the spider, his muscles poised to sweep his sword in an arc to drive the spider back up the wall.

Yet, the spider was not there.

"You!" Cousland exclaimed, stopping the blade inches from its intended target.

The Witch of the Wilds glared at him, her gold eyes glittering in the glow from the staff and the healing magics. " 'Tis how you thank someone for saving your dwarf's life? I will have to reconsider doing so in the future."

"How did you-?"

"That is not a question I have time to answer; unless of course you are willing to lose your lives to the darkspawn rapidly approaching from the south?" Her eyebrow arched.

"The south?" He reflexively glanced towards Ostagar, and saw the reassuring flame of the tower's beacon licking up into the night's darkness.

"Yes. Soon, the horde will have crashed over the last survivors and flood this ravine like a terrible river." The Witch tapped his shoulder with her staff. "There is a path up, not too much further north from here. You'll know it by the tangled roots of bloodweed. T'would be difficult to carry her the length but you managed to get down here. I am sure you can achieve the same prowess leaving." The tone of her voice suggested otherwise.

"What?" Cousland turned back to stare at her. "What are you talking about?"

"We really do not have time for these questions." Already, purple ribbons of magic were curling around the witch's legs, slowly wrapping up around her body. "Stay here and see for yourself if you do not believe me. If you do not care for your own life, 'tis no concern of mine."

"What?" He asked again, but she couldn't answer for she had taken the guise of the giant spider. She didn't spare him a backwards glance as she crawled back up the cliff. He watched the spider until the creature's form was blended into the shadows littering the ravine's side. He turned to study the line of the ravine until it curved into the chokepoint the King's army had used.

He saw giant figures breaking past the wooden barricades.

Maker's mercy, the witch was right. He whirled on the spot and knelt down to shake Surana from her healing trance. She responded with a glare, the magic cutting out as her concentration was broken.

"What are you-?"

He cut her off. "No time, we need to move. Now." He tried to jerk her to her feet, but she yanked her arm out of his grasp. She opened her mouth to retort but he forced her to look down the length of the ravine, towards the battle. Her shoulders tensed and when she looked back to him, fear shone in her eyes.

"Exactly." Cousland agreed. He spared a glance to Brosca. "Can we move her?"

"I- she has some internal damage, the explosion-"

"Can she be moved?"

"I - yes. Yes, I believe I managed to stabilize the worst of it." Surana nodded and pushed herself back up.

"What about you?" He jerked his chin toward her ankle.

She followed the gesture and knelt to clap her wrist about her ankle. Vivid blue light spilled from between her fingers and when she stood, she looked drained, but she was placing weight on that leg. "I'll be fine. I'll follow you."

Cousland didn't argue. He knelt to scoop up Brosca in a hold that had her draped about his shoulders. He could steady her balance with one hand and keep his sword out with the other, though he knew it'd be of little help. Without his full weight behind the swings, the two-hander was more hindrance than help. He made his way back to Alistair and Aeducan, the latter rushed towards him as he approached.

"Brosca?"

"Lives, but if we don't hurry; we won't."

Aeducan frowned at that, but he only had to glance behind Cousland to see what the noble meant. "I see." If the dwarf was worried, he showed none of it. "What's the next course of action?"

"Sarim can see better than us in the dark, and I think if we move fast enough, we can get up and out of the ravine before the horde swoops in."

Alistair peered up the sheer cliffs. "How are we going to do that? Sprout wings and fly?"

"There's a path. Sarim can know it by the tangle of bloodweed about it." He looked to the mabari who wagged his tail in eager response. "Move swift, boy, we have little time."

Sarim barked and took off ahead of them, keeping close enough so they could see him, but far enough that he could spot the path quicker than their slow-moving pace could.

Alistair took the lead after Sarim, then Cousland and Surana, with Aeducan bringing up the rear. Sure enough, a hundred meters from the tunnel, Sarim barked out again and waited near a tangle of deep red vines that seemed to have eaten into the rock itself. When Surana raised her staff out, they could make out the shadow of a path, hidden back behind the cliff that curved up to the forest above. Cousland adjusted Brosca's weight and stepped onto it after Surana, carefully following the mage's unsure steps as those would be the easiest for him to take as well.

At the top, the elves ran up, both looking worse for wear. Tabris' leathers were stained with blood and her blond hair was matted against her skull. A nasty bruise was forming up alongside the right side of her jaw and her left arm hung limp. Mahariel ran with a limp; his right hand sported nasty burns, the splash of the magic arcing up his arm in a spiral pattern until just under his collarbone. Blood dripped from a laceration on his cheekbone.

The witch was right behind them, using the wolf-guise he remembered seeing outside the camp. She changed back as soon as her footsteps brought her into the circle of Surana's staff-light. "Where are the others?" She asked, her voice a bit breathless.

"Dead." Mahariel stated plainly, his attention on the oncoming darkspawn. "We might make it up to the Hinterlands if we push hard tonight."

"If you want to be able to fire a bow again, you'll let me tend to that hand first." Surana warned. "Brosca still needs care, and I think Tabris' arm is broken?" She looked to the city-elf for clarification. Tabris nodded. "Therefore-"

"Mother's hut isn't that far." The witch piped up. Cousland wished he'd remembered her name, but that was pushed away as Mahariel jumped into the conversation again.

"Your mother's hut is south of us, back towards the Horde. If the army was overrun … then the force of the darkspawn was greater than Loghain planned for… if there are survivors, they'll head north, away from the battle."

"Lothering is north." Cousland mused. He tried to keep the worry of Fergus' fate from his mind, much like he thought Alistair was trying to do concerning the Grey Wardens. "It sounds like our best bet."

"Mother told me to guide you back to her hut! She has magic that can keep the darkspawn at bay while you recover!"

Mahariel turned to the witch. "Do you have these magic spells that your mother does?" He nodded as if he expected her answer to be a sputtered no and pressed on. "Then what good would those spells be for us fighting back into the Horde to reach her? We must think of our own lives first and then we will re-group and re-plan." He said the last bit to Alistair who hesitated a long while before offering a jerky nod.

Morrigan, the witch, turned her golden gaze south as well and a shadow of insecurity washed over her. Cousland wondered how young she was as he watched the struggle play out over her face. Steely determination won out and a mask slid over her beautiful features. She glanced back to the group. "Very well. I know of one nearby spring we could use to wash wounds and allow the wounded time to recover." She gripped her own staff tightly. She flicked her attention to Tabris, and to the elf's arm. "You will need that set before your mage can heal the bones."

Tabris winced, and looked to Surana, probably to get an assurance that they could set the bone later, after. Surana confirmed that Morrigan was right, though. She approached Tabris and chuckled as the younger elf made a face, but offered her arm up to be set. She did cry out as Surana quickly went about setting the arm and placing it against a brace that Morrigan help up, but afterwards stayed silent.

True to her word, Morrigan led them north; away from her mother's hut and away from the darkspawn. The blaze of the beacon faded the further they walked, and Cousland's legs felt like lead as the witch ducked underneath a fallen tree. Tucked into a hideaway was a small spring that bubbled gently. When Cousland splashed the water over his face, he was surprised to note that it was warm despite the cold night.

"Mother calls them hotsprings. They stay warm all year around, no matter snow or blazing sun." Morrigan informed. She sat near him, soaking bandages.

Cousland nodded, then moved aside to let Sarim drink deeply of the spring's waters. When he turned, he saw that Surana, Mahariel, and Aeducan had taken the company's cloaks and what little moss they could find to make a makeshift bed.

Mahariel undid his belt as Cousland approached, tossing it aside. Cousland heard the tinkling of vials in the attached pouch as it landed on the soft ground. "Not much room, but if we stay close we can preserve body heat and keep hidden by the thicket around us." The suggestion sounded like Mahariel had done exactly that more than a few times. Cousland must have made a face, for the elf allowed a rare, dry chuckle to form. "Hunting bands during winter would sleep together for warmth. It is common amongst the Dalish, for the clan is family and family is life out in the Wilds." His eyes grew sad at the last bit. "I will take first watch."

Cousland couldn't find the drive to protest, to do the noble thing and offer up his sleep for first watch. Instead, he fell heavy onto the makeshift bed and felt Alistair stir behind him, the templar already snoring away. Sarim curls up at his legs, the massive mabari head resting up on his thigh. Cousland's eyes close to the sight of Surana bending over Brosca.

His eyes opened when sunlight seared his sight. Then arguing voices, low enough to be nothing more than heated murmuring drew his attention and pulled him more awake.

"You are not coming with us!" That voice was Alistair, it rang shaky but filled with passion.

"On the contrary, I have every much right to see this through as you do. My mother-" The second voice was Morrigan's. Firm, decisive, clipped and cold. The witch's volume was the same as the templars but Cousland had a nagging feeling that would soon change.

He stretched, noted that Sarim was not near him, and turned to see Tabris' bright blue eyes staring at him in quiet wonder before she lifted her gaze to stare into the thicket where the two were arguing. "They've been at it for a bit now." She said as greeting. Her arm was wrapped in bandages, and the distinct smell of a healing poultice reached his nose. "D'you think she could really turn him into a frog?"

Cousland blinked at her and also looked back to see if he could spy Morrigan and Alistair. "I think that's a question better served for Surana, don't you think?"

"I couldn't wake her, I'd feel bad!" Tabris hissed, her breath tickling his ear as the elf scooted closer to his side to better hear the argument. "Why'd you think he doesn't want Morrigan to come with us? She saved our butts back there."

Cousland shot a glance back at her, then pulled back as she was hovering right behind him, sitting cross-legged and using his side as a purchase to balance her elbows on. His body groaned at the movement, and he let it slide, for the moment. She reminded him of Oren. "That she did." He agreed.

"If you're so worried about your mother, then go turn into a little bird and fly back home."

"What, and have you lead them into a mire or a bog? You don't know the way out of this thicket, let alone the Wilds themselves!"

"We have a Dalish ranger, I'm sure he can lead us out just fine. Better company too."

"You don't even know me! You will need far more than steel and healing magic if you want to do anything about the Blight."

Alistair snorted. "Sure, need you like a need a broken toe. Outside of these Wilds, you're an apostate, and all the Chantry's going to see is an Maleficarium fit to be run through with a sword."

"I am not a blood mage if that's what you're insinuating." Morrigan protested. Cousland felt Tabris shift up to her feet and watched the elf approach the thicket.

"You're as bad as one. Apostates are trouble and they'll only bring trouble-"

"Alistair." Tabris said loud enough to stop the templar's words. "If the Horde did sweep through the southern Wilds then she probably doesn't have a mother to go home to…"

"What does that-"

"It almost means she does have the right to avenge that death, just like you and Ser Duncan. Besides, we need all the help we can get; even if it's from those the Chantry deems evil and unwanted. Right? That's why Duncan didn't care about recruiting elves."

Alistair appered back on the side of the undergrowth that Cousland could see. An apologetic look covered the templar's face. "Now I didn't mean anything-"

"She's coming with us." Tabris said again, firmly. "Surana can teach her how to act like a Circle Mage-"

"I refuse to act like those shackled fools." Morrigan had also reappeared. Her expression was dark and spiteful. "And if you think I need your defending me against this buffoon of a templar…"

"I'm not defending you," Tabris shook her head. By this time, Cousland could hear the rest of the camp stirring awake. "I'm telling Alistair that as Grey Wardens, we will take whatever help we can get and that's what Duncan would have done." She addressed the last point to Alistair and didn't look away until the templar nodded. "Good. I think Theron is out trying to catch some of the critters fleeing north for breakfast, can you help me gather firewood?"

Alistair nodded and turned to follow Tabris out of the thicket while Morrigan glared after them. She sat on the rocks that edged the spring and turned the glare onto Cousland.

Cousland turned his attention back to catching more sleep.

* * *

A/N: I know, a quick update! Gasp and marvel at such a feat of daring. *chuckle* I know the last updates were few and far between, but I'll try to make time to keep this story going regularly.

Lehni: I'll try to keep the updates closer together so it's not a re-read every time you come back. :)

A Forgotten Fairy: You did get one couple right, or hinted at them in one of your earliest reviews. I'm afraid that not all of your intended couples will happen though.

My Lurking Readers: Please try to drop a line or two in a review. It really does make an artist's day brighter when they open up an e-mail saying they've got a new review, but don't worry. if you don't; I won't halt updates just because of a lack of reviews. I love writing this story far too much to do that.


	10. Mahariel: Separation

**Mahariel: Separation**

Two nights of slow walking found the bedraggled company sans Morrigan huddled underneath the upturned roots of a fallen giant as dawn beckoned on the third day with a miserable grey sky. The oak must have toppled during a storm earlier in the winter but even in death, the tree provided them with firewood and a roof over their heads to duck out of the endless drizzle that had become a constant, unwanted companion. They were mere minutes outside of Lothering and a potential hot meal and warm beds, even Mahariel looked forward to being out of the wet and cold, even if it was surrounded by shems.

Morrigan had slipped into the form of a scrawny wolf with a length of limb suggesting her form wasn't yet of an adult to scout ahead at Cousland's request. Highwaymen plagued the southern bend of the Imperial Highway during the best days of the season. If there were refugees from the battle trickling north, it would be a feeding frenzy and they weren't in the best shape to take on a band of thieves. Until Morrigan came back with news, the wardens would take cover against the great oak and wait. They attempted their hand at passable conversation but even Tabris' forced cheer couldn't break through the weight of the previous week over the group. When she went quiet, her silence spread through the group until the half-hearted chatter faded and left the door open for the past to rush in and claim them. Mahariel pressed his head against the cold, rough bark and tried to use the memories of laughter and the crackling fire accompanying the storyteller's tales to keep himself positive. He wondered what the Clan was doing, where they were, how they were faring…

"She's back." Aeducan touched his good arm, rousing him from the doze he had fallen into. The golden-haired dwarf pointed to the end of one of the roots and Mahariel caught the shadow of a wolf, its golden eyes gleaming in the darkness beyond their shelter.

"If she's not approaching…" Mahariel wondered what trickery Fen'Harel had dragged before their path this day. He got to his feet and ducked out from their makeshift home to greet the wolf. Morrigan shifted back to her human form as he approached, the purple glow of her magic standing bright against the dreary grey of the morning. "What is wrong?"

"Highwaymen lurk along the road. I counted several bandit camps that were away from the village's outskirts." Morrigan grabbed her clothes from the upturned root she stood near as she continued speaking. She tugged her hood up as a pitiful cover from the miserable damp. "The village itself is bloated with wretched creatures, each group more pitiful than the last."

Mahariel didn't care to comment on her observation on the human refugees. He knew from his and Tamlen's journeys to the edges of human settlements that they treated their animals better than some of their poor at times, and that most those at the bottom of the heap did nothing to help themselves, but wallowed in the muck the villagers tossed their way. There were times Mahariel wondered if their city cousins were even worthy to return to the old ways. "Anything else?"

"Templars guard all the ways to walk into the village proper. The ring of refugees spreads out before them, and the scavengers pluck what they shall from the outskirts of even that mass of humanity." Morrigan ended her observations by taking her staff back from him.

"Templars?" Mahariel furrowed his brow. "They were the guards with the mages at Ostagar?"

"You do not know of the Templars?" Morrigan asked, curious. When he shook his head, she explained. "They are shackled dogs to the Chantry, unleashed only to hunt down 'apostates' and 'maleficarium' to protect the good, honest folk of Ferelden." The last bit was said in a mock sing-song voice, as if she'd been given that line many a time. "I know Lothering has a Chantry but 'tis curious how many more templars they have at their beck and call now. When I went through the village last I could count on a hand how many templars stayed in the village."

"How many are there now?"

"Now, mind you I did not enter into the village, but I counted over a dozen."

"A dozen?"

Morrigan nodded, and her countenance grew dim. "They are simply tools of the Chantry and have no thought of their own; 'tis an order of deadly tools. It took much of Mother's cunning to keep us from their witch-hunts in the Wilds."

"It could mean nothing but a side-effect of the refugee situation, the shems keeping crowd control." He mused; "or it could be trouble. We'll discuss it with the others." He returned to the oak with Morrigan at his heels. "Is Cousland awake?" He asked Aeducan.

"I am." The human called out. His voice was hoarse. Mahariel stayed put as he crouched awkwardly under the low ceiling to make his way over. "Is Morrigan back?"

"I am."

"What did you see?"

Behind Cousland, blue-white light flared over the group as Surana brought up her staff. The glow only heightened the weariness on their faces. She nudged Alistair with her boot as she moved over to where the talking was. After a moment, Tabris and Brosca approached as well, the latter looking a bit more recovered, but still shaken from her near-death experience. Finally Alistair joined them, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

Morrigan quirked a brow as she took in the larger group. "I did not realize that I was to be on display… but very well." She went into explaining to Cousland what she and Mahariel had spoken about. When she was finished, it wasn't Cousland who spoke first; it was Surana.

"They're looking for me."

"Who?" Alistair peered over at her.

"The templars."

"They can't know you survived," Aeducan assured the mage.

"I know." She glanced down at her hands. "If they're not looking for me, then they're there to collect the mages that wander up into Lothering for respite after Ostagar. Duncan had requested most of the senior enchanters. People can disappear in chaos and the templars won't much like mages being amongst those performing the disappearing act." Surana looked towards Morrigan. "They won't much like an apostate running around either."

"I told you she'd be a liability," Alistair grumbled under his breath to Tabris. The city elf seemed to not hear as she scooted up closer to listen.

Mahariel let out a sigh. "How do these templars know a mage from any one else?"

Surana opened her mouth to answer, but ended up only shrugging helplessly before she cast a hopeful glance in Alistair's direction. Alistair, for his part, blinked owlishly when he looked up to see the entire company looking his way. "What?"

"He's been comtemplating his navel all our journey north, what makes you think he'll be of any use to us now?" Morrigan scoffed.

Alistair's features darkened. "Shut up. It's called grieving. What would you do if your mother died?"

Morrigan squinted at him. "Are we talking before or after I stopped laughing?"

"Right. Very creepy." He turned away from her. "Forget I asked." He faced Surana again. "What were you asking?"

"How does a templar know if a mage is about?"

Alistair frowned with thought. "I never completed my templar training, but I think it had something to do with the lyrium."

"Lyrium?" Surana blinked. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Alistair froze, "did I say lyrium? I meant the learrrrning. Learning. That's what I meant." He clapped his hands together. "Learning I never picked up, so, I don't know really."

Surana took it at face value but Mahariel shook his head. "You never learned how to lie well, either." The Dalish noted.

Alistair flashed a sheepish smile. "Right. Er, well, it's Chantry secret how the templars gain their powers and knowledge. When Duncan recruited me, the Revered Mother swore me to never give away the secrets."

"It will aid us, Alistair," Cousland protested, but the templar shook his head.

"I made a vow, and I don't know or trust any of you well enough to want to break that vow." He caught Morrigan's glower. "Especially when mages like her are about to listen in."

"What?" She sniffed haughtily. "I have taken on templars before. I need no secrets to know how to break them."

"Enough!" Aeducan barked before Alistair could retort. He glared at the two until both of them looked away; Morrigan scowling at the wilderness around them; Alistair glaring down at his hands. "If Alistair made a vow, we will not ask him to dishonor it. We will simply find another way to move through the village without drawing attention to ourselves." He addressed Surana. "Are you sure templars can't just… sniff out mages?"

Surana shrugged. "I-I… don't know, really. It was something talked about amongst the apprentices but we were never allowed to talk to the templars at all." Her eartips flushed pink in the light from her staff but if there was a story behind it, she wasn't giving up the tale.

He glanced to Morrigan. "What about you? How did these templars start their witch-hunts?"

Morrigan bit her lip. Even as she theorized, her words held a bitter, mocking ring to them."T'would be after Mother or I were accused during a trading mission. Mostly by a fearful Chasind woman who thought we were there to steal her man away." She brought a finger up to tap the nail against her chin. "Now that I think on it, t'wasn't too hard to leave them behind if Mother felt that a confrontation was a waste of energy."

"So, templars can't just sense a mage in the crowd?" Aeducan looked to Alistair. "Can you confirm that without breaking your oath?"

Alistair frowned, but nodded. "I suppose it wouldn't violate the secrets. Er, you're right, though. Templars just can't pick out a mage from a line-up. We can sense the flare of magic in an area though."

"So then Morrigan and Neria will keep the magic use to an absolute zero," Cousland looked at the two mages. "Work for you?"

Surana nodded while Morrigan sneered and stared out towards the wilderness again. "Very well," she finally managed, though it looked like it was painful for her to say. After a moment though, the bitterness left her eyes. She studied Surana quietly until the white-haired mage squirmed underneath the stare.

"What?" Surana finally asked.

"Nothing," Morrigan gave her a secretive smile and pushed off her knees until she stood above them all. "Let me know when we set out then."

Mahariel watched her go. At a gentle tug on his good arm, he turned to see Tabris staring at him. "Yes?"

"We'll need clothing. Surana, you an' me." She gestured to the three of them. "And we'll have to leave the weapons here."

"Why?"

"Elves aren't allowed to carry weapons. Or wear armor …even torn up leather armor." She said that bit while she glanced forlornly down at the patched up armor that clung to her small frame.

Mahariel frowned. "I will not let a Shemlen dictate what I can and cannot wear."

Even Surana looked puzzled at Tabris' words. "I know I'll need another outfit, as this is a robe of the Mage's Circle but-"

"You said we don't want their attention on us, right?" Tabris scowled at them. "Then you'll have to keep the weapons here and dress in commoner's clothing lest the templars wonder why three elves are walking about with weapons they shouldn't have."

"Then how do you know how to wield those daggers so well?" Mahariel countered. "If weapons are forbidden to our people and you so keen to heed shem law, then surely you have never touched a blade before Ostagar."

"My Mother taught me, I told you that." Tabris said off-handedly, pointedly ignoring the bait. As a last chance, she turned to Cousland. "You're noble-born. Tell them the punishment for elves being caught with weapons."

Cousland's eyes widened and he tried to stammer a protest. Tabris only glowered. "I know you know, Cousland. Your family's second only to the royal family in Denerim. Your city, Highever, has the second largest Alienage. You employed just under twenty elves in your castle alone and that's not including the summer manors dotted across the Teyrnship!"

"How did you know-?"

"I have three cousins who sent me letters every week." She said smugly. "I probably know more about how your castle was run than you did." She grew quiet after a moment. "They spoke fondly of your father, and of you. They said that if they had a choice in the matter, they'd happily stay with the Couslands of Highever for no shems were worth the title of noble more than your family." She gave the man a gentle smile. "I'm sorry for what happened."

"How di-"

"You spoke of it to the King. We were all standing there." Mahariel cut in smoothly. "If what you spoke were true, then I will aid you in avenging your clan." He looked to the others, each of them lifting their heads to offer their own nods to Cousland. Cousland coughed and had to avert his gaze. Mahariel recognized the flush of embarrassment and guilt that burned on the human's face but he didn't let up his stare until Cousland finally looked his way.

"It won't hinder what we need to do," he muttered, his gaze wavering against the weight of Mahariel's steady one.

"You'll have to grieve one day, Cousland." Mahariel spoke, not unkindly.

"Yeah?" The tall, dark-haired noble stiffened. "What about the rest of you then? Do we all circle up and have one long cry-out because life threw shit in our faces?" He glared at each of them and all of them save Morrigan broke away first. The witch appeared confused more than anything else. "Exactly what I thought. None of you have opened up about what happened before Ostagar, why should I?"

"Th-" Mahariel reared back when Cousland suddenly lurched forward. Their gazes locked much like the crash of antlers of stags vying for dominance.

"The past is dead." Cousland's growl was feral and dark. His eyes blazed dangerously. "The only thing that matters right now is survival. Once we figure out what the hell is going on, we'll go our separate ways." He rocked back to his heels before he pushed out of their alcove.

"Where are you going?" Aeducan asked, his voice steady and neutral.

"We need to dispose of the bandits before we reach the town or we'll have nothing but trouble dogging us." Cousland whistled sharply for Sarim to follow him, the mabari lurching to it's feet and in two powerful bounds was at Cousland's side. Tabris followed, scurrying from beside Brosca to snatch up her daggers as she quickened to Cousland's other side.

"What?"

"I'm going to help. They'll have supplies from looting, right? We'll need them more than the dead bandits will." Mahariel heard Tabris mutter before the two stalked into a gray fog that obscured them from the company's sight in heartbeats.


	11. Surana: Prophecy

**Surana: Prophecy**

The drizzle faded, leaving behind a humid, sticky vapor that oozed up from the damp ground. The weather was unusual for Solace's warmer (not to mention drier) season. Mahariel and Aeducan had conferred, then decided to give Cousland and Tabris time to themselves before the rest of the Wardens caught up to the pair. Without Cousland, the other two quickly took upon themselves the burden of leadership and the slack Cousland left behind. Alistair seemed relieved that the weight of choices for their travels was taken out of his control.

When the sun finally broke through the dissipating cloud-cover, Mahariel gave the signal that it was time to move out. It was the last time they'd have to worry about such a shoddy campsite; once they reconnected with the Wardens that survived, maybe one of the King's Army, they'd be transferred to another Warden segment. That was the way these things worked, right?

Surana rubbed a hand at the back of her neck, stifling a yawn as she shouldered her little possessions and began to follow the Dalish. She was dead-tired; she hadn't felt so exhausted since her Harrowing a few weeks prior when she could think of nothing but endless, dreamless sleep when she came to again. Wynne always was a tough mentor, pushing her students to their limits each and every lesson, then upping the stakes when the current goals became a smidgen less than impossible to complete; but even her strenuous tasks didn't leave her with such a dull ache that throbbed through her body.

"However did your kennel-masters at the tower figure you would ever be able to continue day after day like this?" Morrigan's voice came up on her right. Surana glanced up to see that the apostate had slowed her walk so that she moved in time with Surana's lethargic movement. "If this is your state after such a small battle…"

Surana tried to muster up the strength of will for a glare, but she felt it came out as a tired, wilted glance instead. Morrigan's scoff confirmed it. "The templars will give me lyrium; I'll be fine until then." She tried to keep her voice steady and assured.

"The t-templars?" Morrigan's own voice caught as her tone went an octave higher. "Why?"

"Once we report in, I … suppose the templars will want to take me back to the Circle-"

"And you want to return?" Morrigan was incredulous. "You desire the shackles of those men?"

"I-" Surana cut herself off. "What other option do I have? I'm a mage, Morrigan. That's where I belong." Years of the instructors reminding her over and over again about her place in the world and what to expect colored her words now.

"You believe that, do you?" Morrigan sneered. "You're just going to throw your life back into the hands of those that hate and fear you for what? Lyrium?"

Surana went quiet. Her ears burned though, and she brought a hand up to cover the ear closest to Morrigan. "I don't have much else, Morrigan."

"You are a fool, then." Morrigan shook her head violently. "And deserving of the collar they'll snap about your neck but since you are our only access to proper healing (I wouldn't trust any of the others with a stew, let alone poultice mixes) I will teach you one of the tricks Mother taught me." She grabbed Surana's arm, forcing Surana to stop alongside her. When Surana resisted, Morrigan released her arm but smirked sidelong at her. "Unless you want to be addicted to lyrium; truly t'would be such a delightful craving, mm?"

"All right." Surana gritted her teeth and recited one of the stanzas of peace and contemplation before she forced a smile in Morrigan's direction. "What sort of trick do you want to teach me, then?"

Morrigan's smirk evolved into a delicious grin as she begun the lesson.

* * *

Surana wondered if the stench of death would ever become something so commonplace that she'd see it as a background smell like the dusty smell of old books, or the crackling tingle of magic. Then as soon as that thought bubbled up, she hoped that it never would become something she'd be used to.

She pressed the back of her wrist over her mouth as she gingerly stepped over the muddy rivers of blood that spilled over the dew-covered ground. Up ahead, Cousland's tall frame was backlit by a campfire. He looked like a warrior out of an old Avvar legend that the matrons told the apprentices before light's out. Sarim's stance beside him only heightened this comparison.

"Tch, you'd think they were dusters." Brosca grunted from next to her, nudging one of the dead with her boot. The man's face was torn in a perpetual grimace, his eyes staring up at whatever horror of battle Cousland bestowed on him. "No mercy at all in 'im, is there?"

Surana hadn't taken her eyes off Cousland yet. "I… if you say so." She jumped when a bundle was tossed at her feet. Tabris was a meter or so away from her, tossing out various items from a crate. The city elf was drenched in sticky, crimson blood, her blond hair matted to her skin with the remains of the bandits.

"Clothes," Tabris explained, tossing another bundle to Mahariel. "Our bandit friends weren't picky when it came to who they were robbing." She pulled out a doll and stared at the painted face wistfully before gently setting it back into the crate. "There's even dwarven crafts over in those crates." She pointed towards a stacked piled of boxes. Surana heard Aeducan and Brosca move towards it, the rogue pausing as she passed Tabris.

"They don't allow dwarves weapons either?"

"Humans don't really care about dwarves, really." Tabris shrugged and flipped a parcel out of the box. She didn't flinch when the mud splashed across her as a result. Surana could feel the mood around them, a thick and heavy fog but she didn't know how to cut it open. They never covered that in the Tower. They never covered anything in the Tower, really, beyond the compulsive need for absolute control and precision when it came to magic so the Fade could never infiltrate a mage's soul.

_And yet, _Surana's inner voice, a rebellious hiss that feasted on her doubts and fears, _they so easily threw you to the Spirit Healers and that 'bond'._

"Stop it," she whispered, jerking her head to the right.

"Stop what?" Tabris poked her head up again.

"N-nothing."

Tabris grunted an acknowledgement and returned to her pilfering. She glanced up when Surana didn't move. "Get dressed." The young city-elf's eyes were like cold steel before she broke away to search another pile. Surana hesitated half of a heartbeat and then turned to find some privacy to change. She caught sight of Alistair bending over a fallen corpse a ways from the main carnage as she passed by. He pocketed something shiny and small before he returned to standing watch.

* * *

Surana thought that Ostagar, with the varying encampments of magi, templars, crafters, and soldiers; and the endless shouting of orders hurled back and forth over the ancient stone was hectic compared to the orderly life of a Circle Mage. Then she saw Lothering- rather that she saw the sea of bodies that made up the refugees that bloated the village. The noise of hundreds of refugees and their livestock drowned out the mage's thoughts until she swore she was struck deaf. The stench hit her next, a gagging mixture of unwashed flesh and animal byproducts that had her heaving out what little of a breakfast they had partaken in earlier.

She followed behind the others, head down, staff wrapped up with twine and leather to look like any ordinary walking stick. Out of their entire party, only Cousland, Aeducan and Brosca kept their armor. It was common enough, Cousland had explained, to see dwarven mercenaries wandering the roads in search for a job or two. The rest of them donned the commoner clothing, Morrigan having searched through all of the boxes until she had found articles with Chasind styling that suited her tastes. She strolled over the main walk as bold as brass, her eyes locking with every gaze that upturned to face her and forcing them to pull away first. Surana marveled at her confidence.

"We should split up," Mahariel broke into her thoughts, drawing their attention. "We'll never find anything in this bloated throng if we move as one group."

"What exactly are we looking for?" Brosca wondered.

"Survivors of Ostagar." Cousland answered. "Wardens." He looked as if he wanted to add another to that list but he only cleared his throat. "Without the rest of the Wardens, Alistair here is our superior office-"

"Wait wait wait," Alistair cut in quickly. "Me? Leading? Do you have a deathwish? I'm just good at following orders, looking pretty, and keeping morale up. I leave the leading up to those who have common sense."

"The blind leading the blind," Surana heard Morrigan murmur under her breath. The dark-haired mage gave a violent shake of her head and then strode forward to stand in the center of the company. " 'Tis obvious then why we need to uncover what happened to the rest of your Wardens is it not? T'wouldn't be too hard to keep track of ourselves in this …" she waved her hand at the crowd surrounding them. "The fool dog and myself will have no trouble minding where all of you wander off to."

"Better chance of picking up the latest gossip too." Brosca agreed. "A ragtag group like us is only going to bring attention to ourselves, but a couple of elves, a dwarf here and there, and you long-legged humans alone won't be as much local news."

Cousland frowned. If he was over the dark mood that had descended upon him earlier, it wasn't obvious to Surana's observations. "I fail to see the reason to split up. We should head to the local tavern and inquire as to the location and gathering point for the Ostagar survivors. Someone there will have the knowledge we seek."

"In case you've forgotten pretty boy," Brosca drawled, her voice dry as sandpaper. "You're still wanted by what's-his-name and we're not sure if the thugs working for him have gone to ground yet."

"What? I - oh." Cousland's anger deflated rapidly. "You're right, of course you're right. Arl Howe never made it to Ostagar and with the Ferelden military scattered to the four winds, it's the perfect opportunity for him."

"Bandits?" Alistair asked.

"Better safe than sorry." Cousland shrugged. "If they're still hunting me, Lothering would be the best place to linger around. Everyone's converging onto this village." He looked to the rest of them. "How should we split up there?"

"Aeducan and I will pair off. I saw a surfacer merchant back along that risen wreck of a road you humans call a highway." Brosca offered.

"I can go speak with the elves," Tabris piped up, pointing towards a small group of folk that were separated from the other refugees.

"I'll go with you," Mahariel said to which Tabris gave him a cheery smile and beckoned for him to follow as she headed towards the elves.

"I suppose this means I shall deal with the merchants and midwives. We are short on herbs and if we are to continue travelling, my supplies need to be restored." Morrigan shook her head and walked the opposite way from where Tabris and Mahariel were heading. After she was gone, rounded about a corner, Surana caught Cousland and Alistair staring at her. "Er, I …um." She looked about the village for any clue on where she'd go to find information. The Chantry bell tolled and she brightened. "Ah! I'll head to the Chantry, yes."

"The Chantry?" Alistair frowned, puzzled. "You're a mage."

"So?" She countered, eyes narrowing.

"So I'll … uh … accompany you. You'll need an escort." He recovered quickly, flashing her a charming smile and offering out a hand. He looked so much like another, dashing, charming templar that it made Surana's throat tighten. _Cullen…_ his features flickered over Alistair's own. "Or if you don't want me to…" Alistair dropped his arm, his smile faltering and that broke the spell.

"No!" She rushed forward, linking their arms. Her ankle protested the quick movement, but it was worth the beaten puppy-eyes look fading from Alistair's face. "I just- you- oh, come on." She tugged him forward, not looking back at Cousland or Sarim, though she could hear the dog's plaintive whine.

"I don't know, boy; women are a species all on their own." Cousland said before he too walked in a different direction.

"Would you hate me if I confessed that I had another reason to head to the Chantry?" Alistair asked as the two ducked underneath the archway leading to the Chantry courtyard. Around the walls templars and common soldiers mingled, talking in hushed tones amongst theirselves. No one looked their way, no one asked for them to stop and hand over the obvious mage.

Surana shook her head. "No, but I'm grateful for the company all the same." She patted Alistair's arm. "What are you looking for within the Chantry?"

"A knight I once knew." He answered. He drew out an amulet from his pack. "I remember this amulet. It belonged to Ser Henric from Redcliffe. I found it nearby where Ser Cousland and Kallian killed those bandits. I … want him to have a proper death. He was …kind to me when I stayed in Redcliffe."

Surana understood. "You're a good man, Alistair." They drew up to the Chantry doors and Surana balked. When Alistair questioned her, she tried to smile and shake it off. "I … why don't you go ahead? I need to build up my nerves before I go into the templar's den."

Alistair chuckled. "All right. Where are you-?"

"The garden." Surana pointed towards a small iron-wrought gate; beyond it they could make out the Chantry's local garden. It was still bedecked in the decorations used for Summersday celebrations, the bright colors glittering with rain. "I'll be in there."

"I'll be right back." He assured her and walked up the steps. When he entered the Chantry she turned and headed into the garden. She berated herself as she closed the gate behind her with a gentle 'clang' of the metal. She was being foolish, she knew that much. It wasn't as if the moment she stepped foot into the Chantry, they would instantly know about her aiding a blood mage to escape free into the countryside, or how she was a mage from Ostagar and needed to be corralled up with the other mages that escaped.

As soon as she thought that, Wynne's face flashed before her. Surana's heart seized as she realized that it was more than likely that Wynne did not survive the battle. Sure, she was a fiercely strong mage and the go-to Spirit Healer in all the southern lands, but she had been elderly and past her prime and- Surana couldn't fight the choked sob that tore from her throat. She crumpled onto a stone bench, not bothering to fight the tears that burned her eyes. Her head fell into her hands, her staff dropped forgotten to the side as she finally allowed herself to grieve for all those that she knew and had possibly lost during the battle.

"_Draw your last breath, my friends,  
Cross the Veil and the Fade and all the stars in the sky.  
Rest at the Maker's right hand,  
And be Forgiven."_

The chant called Surana from her sorrows. She knew the verse to be from Trials, but never had she heard it spoken so gently or reverently before, nor had it ever suited the moment so well. She looked up to find the speaker, a redheaded human woman kneeling before one of the memorial markers a little ways away from her own seat. The woman wore the robes of a priestess, her hair cut short, the ends barely brushing her chin. When the woman rose from her kneeling position, Surana stood as well.

"Wait," she called. She reached a hand out towards the priestess. "Please."

The priestess stilled her walk to face Surana. "Yes?" Her voice was heavily accented with Orlesian. She had the prettiest blue eyes Surana had ever seen. They furrowed in surprise upon seeing the Warden. "Oh!" She exclaimed. "It's you!"

"M-me?" Surana blinked. Her question was forgotten. She hastily wiped away the tear tracks on her cheeks. "We know eachother?"

"You are a Grey Warden, no?" She asked, excitement clear in her voice.

"What? I - what makes you think I'm a Grey Warden?" Surana asked warily.

"You are!" She clapped her hands together. "Oh, I knew the Maker's vision was no lie. I am Leliana, I will be coming with you to stop the Blight!"

"What vision? The Blight?"

Leliana nodded eagerly. "Yes! After all, you will need all the help you can get, no? I mean… with the deaths at Ostagar, you are … you might be the only Grey Warden left!"

Surana's blood went cold. "Pardon?"

Leliana frowned. "I … you are a Grey Warden, yes?" She waited until Surana nodded," and you were at Ostagar, yes?"

"I was."

"You were in the battle, then? The one that killed the king and the Wardens? I thought…" Understanding flashed over Leliana's eyes. "You didn't know. Oh, Maker, I'm so sorry."

"Dead?" Surana whispered, her voice catching. "The King is dead?"

Leliana nodded. "Loghain came through just yesterday with the news." She hesitated a moment. "I believe when they say that the King perished, but I don't agree with how they are saying it happened."

Surana was curious now. "What are they saying?"

"That the Grey Wardens betrayed the King and lured him into a trap." Leliana replied. "But that can't be true, yes? Why would the Grey Wardens lead the King into a trap that wiped out all of them as well?" She stared at Surana. "They were his allies, no?"

"I was recruited that night, I don't know how the Wardens - you- you need to tell this to Alistair." She reached out to grab Leliana's hand. "He's in the Chantry, and he's been a Warden for a bit. He'll want to hear what you're saying."

"So I can come with you then? To stop the Blight?" Leliana smiled as Surana ushered them out of the garden and towards the steps leading up into the Chantry.

"Alistair first, that topic second." Surana stopped short when the doors opened without her touching them. Alistair must have known she had been looking for him as he didn't look too surprised to see her on the other side of the doors. "Alistair!"

"I have some bad news." He greeted, his eyes darting between her and Leliana. "Who's this?"

"Hello! I am -"

"She's Leliana," Surana interrupted. "You need to hear what she has to say."

* * *

_A/N: Aha, even more deviations from the main story! Read and review, as always. As for why the chapter breaks are so... awkward this time around; for some reason it won't accept my usual breaks. Editted the current month. A journal by Trian states that the Provings held in his sibling's honor were written late Ferventis, making the 'official' game start around the middle to end of Solace. _


	12. Tabris: Reunion

**Tabris: Reunion**

"Could they all be in on some huge joke, lying about Ostagar?" Tabris chewed on her lower lip as she stared at Mahariel while the latest elven contact returned to his family. "That when we walk into the tavern Duncan and the others will jump out and yell 'Fools on you!'?" She stepped away from Mahariel and towards the bridge leading to the western part of the village, the crowds were thinner. She knew he followed, just as she knew her question was silly and pointless.

When asked about news from Ostagar the answer had been the same: The King had perished in a cowardly attack orchestrated by the Wardens. Loghain had barely enough time to pull the rest of the army out to safety. Tabris was thankful she'd insisted on their disguises now that Grey Wardens were labeled as traitors to Ferelden and to be killed on sight or delivered to Regent Loghain's men for punishment.

"Where are you going?" Mahariel jogged to her side, dark eyes concerned. "Should we not return to the others?"

"Just going to get some fresh air in the field over there," she pointed to a newly tilled field, the soil overturned.

"Is it the crowds?" He asked, looking back to the refugees.

"No," she shook her head. "The Denerim Alienage was crowded. You had to get used to a press of bodies around you constantly, or you'd go mad." She knew her laugh sounded forced. "I just thought that being a Grey Warden would be a new start, not another one way street into Fort Drakon and the hangman's noose."

"Another way?" Mahariel walked with her over the bridge. He stopped when she did, and leaned against the stone barrier while she rested her elbows on it. He didn't press as she stared out over the water. "I remember," he began slowly when she didn't speak for a while, "that you mentioned this before, although you never said what the cause was. Do you, would you mind?"

"Talking about it?" Tabris canted her head almost lazily towards him, her eyes seeing through him to the collection of elves, her thoughts flying many miles to the east to land on smiling cousins and doting fathers. "I suppose." She focused on him, focused on the strong line of his jaw, unusual for an elven male, and the sharp point of his ears. "I am wanted for the murder of a shemlen noble in Denerim."

"Is there truth to these accusations?"

"It is the truth. I was to be married on Summersday alongside my cousin, Soris. A shemlen lord decided that he was going to throw a small party and he wanted …" she worked the word in her mind for a moment or two before saying it aloud, "entertainment."

"I understand." Mahariel said carefully, causing her to whirl around and face him directly. That same rage that had taken over in the arl's estate seared through her now, enhanced by the caustic burn of the taint and the ever-constant whispering song that danced in the back of her mind, of all their minds. Two simple words drove a spike of fury into her skull until it was all she could do to keep herself from attacking him. How in the Fade could he understand?

"No." She snapped. "I don't think you do. I don't think you 'understand' what it felt like to be caged up like cattle waiting for the proverbial slaughter. I don't think that you could ever 'understand' the desire to kill each and every shemlen in your path because they all want capture you and drag you kicking and screaming to the torture chamber that bastard deemed his 'bedroom'. I don't think you can 'understand' the sight of your cousin bleeding and battered on the floor and the monster coming for you next; bribing you with money to just let him have act out his twisted desires with your bloodkin!" She stopped, too angry to speak. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, the taint a cruel, guttural urging that told her to lash out again, physical this time and to draw blood. She could vaguely feel pinpricks of pain where her nails bit into her palms from her hands being balled into fists. When Mahariel reached out to touch her shoulder, she shrugged off the touch and glared out at the water again, trying to ignore the angry tears blurring her vision

"Abelas, Kallian." He spoke again but did not attempt to touch her a second time. "You have struggled more than any da'len should."

"Da'len?" She asked, glancing to him. The question helped to stem the anger. "I remember Mother calling me that."

"Do you promise not to kick my shins again?" He asked, a smile flitting over his lips. Shame blazed over her cheeks while she nodded. "It means 'child' in the trade tongue."

"Oh." She sucked in a breath. "How do you know the Trade Tongue so well?"

"My clan takes in those elves from the shemlen cities that wish to return to the old ways. When I was younger, Hahren Paivel, our clan's storyteller, decided that while the flat-ears (pardon the expression) learned our tongue, we would also learn theirs as to always be able to guide any city elf ready to return to their people."

"My Alienage has a Hahren. He's lead us for as long as I can remember." The anger was mostly gone now, and embarrassment had taken it's place. "I'm sorry for lashing out at you. You didn't deserve it."

"It's all right, you have a right to be so angry."

"I should be used to it." She glanced over when he made a questioning noise. "The way shems treat us. Mother tried to tell me that all shems aren't that bad, and I suppose she's right but I can't just forget and forgive."

"You shouldn't need to."

"Yes, I should." She faced him again. "I don't like feeling so angry and hateful! I miss just talking about silly tidbits of daily life and hearing my cousins laugh at my stories. This isn't me, this bitter nasty person who enjoyed killing those bandits because they had hurt someone else and deserved to die."

Mahariel stayed quiet, but he reached out to place a supporting hand on her shoulder. "I am here if you need support, Kallian; but with one condition." He waited until she met his gaze. "That you work towards regaining that exuberant personality you showed me when we first met. Agreed?"

When Tabris smiled, she wondered if it looked as broken as she felt. "Agreed."

* * *

They talked a while longer about various topics, mostly an easing down from the explosion of tension that went with Tabris' outburst. The conversation ended when Morrigan approached them, her golden eyes studying them as she neared. She stared at Tabris' face longer than what Tabris was comfortable with.

"What's wrong with my face?" Tabris asked, bringing a hand up to brush over her cheek. It pulled away covered in dirt and wetness from her earlier tears. "Oh."

"Did I interrupt some elven bonding ritual?" Morrigan tilted her head much like a bird would.

"We were just getting to the part where we tossed an unsuspecting human over the bridge." Tabris nodded, smiling when Morrigan's brow furrowed. "I'm teasing. We were going to throw Alistair over, anyways."

"Oh." Morrigan blinked slowly, then shook her head. "Well, I'll leave you to your antics. I have no more of the desire to linger in this cesspool." She sidestepped to go around them, but stopped short when Tabris jumped before her. "Yes?"

"We'll come with you!" Putting the mask back on was easy enough. A smile here, a lilt of the voice here, and to just keep talking; it wouldn't be long before Mahariel stopped looking at her with such …pity in his eyes. Besides, she reminded herself, it was easier to prattle on. "I mean, we're done with our little tasks and we've got some bad news that the Cousland noble isn't going to like, neither will Alistair, but besides that there's no other reason to spend time in here. Did you see the others before you found us- what?" She broke off confusedly for Morrigan started to stare at her oddly.

"When do you breathe?"

"Oh. Um…" She couldn't think of a proper answer and so she shrugged. It satisfied Morrigan and so the three turned as one to cross the rest of the bridge and exit the village.

"So what shall you do now?" Morrigan asked as they passed an elderly woman tending to reclining figures on makeshift cots. When the two elves glanced her way, she gave a noncommittal shrug. "I mean, 'tis obvious that you will not be joining with the army."

"You can tell that, can you?" Mahariel didn't give her a look as they stepped beyond the western gate.

"Why else would you be walking away from the gathering of soldiers merely a walk that way?" Morrigan retorted, tossing a scowl at the back of his head as he passed her by. "Unless this is some bizarre initiation ritual that I am not privy too, of course."

Tabris shook her head at the witch's commentary. She'd tell Morrigan about their discovery when there were less people around. Her ears pricked at a gravelly voice chanting in a language she'd never heard of before.

"_Shok ebasit hissra. Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun. Maraas shokra. Anaan esaam Qun." _The speaker was a giant of a man, broad in shoulder as he was tall. He stood stock still in the center of a cage that would hardly be suitable for an elf, let alone someone of his stature. Tabris heard Morrigan's breath come out in a pained hiss.

"This is cruelty. No living creature deserves to be caged so." She came to a halt before the cage, staring up at the prisoner.

At her words, the giant opened his eyes. Tabris noted that they were a startling shade of violet. "More spectators?" He grumbled, dismissing them a moment later by returning to his chant.

Mahariel peered around. "Is this an ordinary human punishment? Isolation?" He spotted a hooded person passing them by. "Ho there!"

"No." The prisoner rumbled. "I am to be left for the darkspawn." His lips quirked in a sardonic smile. "Your Revered Mother claims that it will be your Maker's will that decides my fate."

"The Maker has no hold over me," Morrigan sneered, but her eyes ever remained on the lock and cage. When the figure Mahariel summoned approached, she turned her attentions towards them. "Tell me, why does this man deserve such a fate?"

The hooded villager gazed up at the cage. "According to the templars who brought him in, he murdered an entire family in cold blood with his bare hands." Their tone brooked no bias towards innocence or guilt. "He confessed and the Revered Mother had him put up here."

"How long has he been here?" Morrigan snapped peevishly.

"A week, maybe two?" The villager shrugged at Morrigan's demeanor. "He agreed to his fate, lady, and I'm not one to argue with the Chantry or the templars it keeps on a short, aggressive leash."

"Hawke!" A distant girl called out, waving her arms. "Hawke get back here! This cart isn't going to hitch itself!"

The villager glanced around to each of them. "If that's all, I'm being summoned." With no protest from the Wardens, Hawke gave them a jaunty wave and strolled leisurely towards the woman calling for them.

"Did he speak the truth, giant?" Morrigan turned back to the Prisoner.

"Yes." The man stated simply.

Tabris was about to offer her condolences and a wish to help him out of his straits when Mahariel spoke her thoughts aloud. She gaped at the Dalish. "You want to what?"

Mahariel gave her a grim smile. "You heard the villagers: the Grey Wardens are wiped out and branded traitors. If Duncan was right, and I believe he was, that we face a Blight, should we ignore a strong fighter?"

Tabris tried to speak but words failed her every time she opened her mouth. Feeling foolish she finally managed a stammered response. "He killed in cold blood- and the Chantry put him in here! We can't go against them, that's… that's-"

"Treason?" Mahariel arched a brow. "It's not as if that's a new title for us; besides Morrigan is right." He returned his stare to the prisoner. "No one deserves this fate."

Tabris gaped at him a while longer before closing her mouth and shaking her head ruefully. She glanced up as well to the prisoner, who regarded them with a cool, unwavering stare. "Can you fight?"

"Yes."

"Will you help us defeat the Blight?"

"Are you Grey Wardens?" He asked. When they nodded, he frowned. "Odd. I was told to expect someone… taller."

Tabris bristled at that comment. "You didn't answer my question. Will you help us in the Blight? You can… atone?" She ended in a questioning lilt, her eyes flickering to Mahariel and Morrigan, both of them nodding encouragement. "Yes. You can atone."

"Atone." The prisoner closed his eyes. He was silent long enough that Tabris feared he'd forgotten they were there completely. When she found the urge to try to wake him, his eyes snapped open once more. "Yes. I will lend my aid to your cause to fight the Blight; perhaps in this battle I may find the chance to redeem myself."

"Good." Mahariel gestured to the padlock. "I'd ask Morrigan to freeze that metal, but I don't want every templar and their mabari hunting us." He took out one of his short swords and began hacking away at the padlock. Within a matter of swings, he was sweating from the effort; a couple dozen swings later the lock fell to the ground, broken, while Mahariel slumped to the ground beside it, exhausted.

Tabris didn't have the heart to pull out the lockpicking toolkit she'd had in her pouch. She did however offer the prisoner stepping down a smile. "I guess this is a 'welcome aboard' moment, then."

"We should not tarry," Morrigan touched her elbow, and Tabris glanced down at the suddenness of the contact. She looked up to see anxiety cloud those gold eyes. "Words of trouble move quickly through Lothering like wildfire. Someone will check on him and we should not be here when they do."

"Your mage has a point," the prisoner didn't seem affected by spending two weeks in that confined cage. With three strides, he was already placing distance between him and the village. "I have a templar check on me daily, just to make sure I do not die of thirst before the darkspawn have their way." He did not look to see if they followed, but his pace slowed until they caught up. "He has not shown today."

Tabris quickened to his side, with the other two hot on her heels. They ducked behind a row of outlying hovels as a group of men walked past, talking amongst themselves about a bounty. While they themselves wouldn't be much to take notice of, a suddenly free Qunari would be the talk of the town. It was a tense game of cat and mouse as every villager seemed to have decided to take a stroll around where they were headed. When they finally reached the crumbled ruins that marked their meeting point, they found Cousland already there, Sarim lounging at his feet.

"New friend?" He jerked his chin towards the prisoner. Sarim got his paws and sniffed towards them.

"You could say that," Tabris smiled. "Did you hear anything?"

"There were very few survivors, if any, from the King's Army." Cousland debriefed as they circled around. "There's a rumor that all of the Grey Wardens were killed off."

Mahariel spoke up. "Did you hear anything else?"

"No. Sarim's been acting oddly since we entered the village. Once I figured that Loghain's troops had left, I decided to wait for you out here. Sarim- mind!" He snapped at the mabari, who now gave a whining sort of growl directed to the abandoned hovels they had passed by not too long before. Sarim sat back on his haunches, but didn't stop the sound.

Cousland scowled, but didn't punish the dog. "Like I said, he's been anxious ever since we entered the village."

Tabris looked from hound to master, then broached a new subject gently. "Any news of your brother… his name was Fergus, right?"

Cousland shook his head. "No, no signs of Fergus- Sarim!" He broke into a shout as the mabari tore off over the wet ground. "What in Andraste's name?" He followed afterward, calling for the dog to mind and heel.

"Truly a wonder how we'll do anything if even the dogs do not mind." Morrigan sighed, but she fell into an easy lope with Tabris as the two chased after Cousland and his mabari. Their instincts were sound as they came upon that same group of men from earlier. Sarim had taken up the entirety of the doorway, cornering the men inside. They were crowded around a beaten man, one side of his face swollen. Sarim's teeth bared in a vicious snarl as the two humans and an elf ran up.

"What is that fool dog on about?" Morrigan snapped to Cousland who did not answer her. He stared at the center man. "Well?" She prodded, and then stepped quickly to avoid being caught in Cousland's charge. He and the mabari moved as one, launching themselves upon the oppressors. Morrigan turned that question onto Tabris who shrugged helplessly. She bent down to unwrap the slender boot knife she had sheathed against her calf and with a small cry, leapt towards a straggler that had been missed in Cousland's initial charge.

"Are you all mad?" Morrigan seethed behind her. Tabris didn't take heed; she was too busy dancing around making sure that none of the men flanked Cousland. The witch let loose a string of curses, the hair on Tabris' neck prickling with the aura of unshed magical power building. She spun away from a slash at her stomach to see the witch of the wilds brimming with a purple glow, her eyes eerily standing out as a vibrant sheen of molten gold.

"Morrigan, you can't- ah!" Tabris yelped as the backhanded swing caught true on her shoulder, ripping her arm open from bicep to elbow. That spurred the witch into action, templars be damned. The house shook with an earth-thundering roar as Morrigan was enveloped in the guise of a giant bear. The fight was over when massive claws raked through leather and flesh. Morrigan moved quick for her newfound size, the bear gracefully avoiding any collision with Sarim or Cousland's backswing.

When it was over, and the last oppressor laid dead in a blood of his own blood, Morrigan shifted back to herself, naked and fuming. As she wrapped her cloak about herself, she was nearly trembling with fury. "What insane, insipid, asinine reason do you think you could even possibly create for exposing us like this you fool?" She descended onto Cousland like a tempest, stopped only by a returned glare from Cousland.

"He's my brother." Cousland shoved Morrigan aside to let light fall onto the battered form of Fergus Cousland.

* * *

_A/N: And the story goes completely off the rails! Thanks to two two friends for helping me come up with this new path. As always, read and review!_


	13. Aeducan: Merchant

**Aeducan: Merchant**

Aeducan ripped out a length of bloated intestine as he yanked his sword back from the hurlock's gut. It wasn't much longer until the creature slumped to a knee and then to the dirt. He focused on Brosca's finish of the two genlocks that circled her. "Did you expect Darkspawn so far north?" She asked, spitting on the cooling corpses. With the back of her hand she wiped at her forehead, smearing grime over the casteless brand. "I figured they'd all still be down at Ostagar doing whatever it is they do to the dead."

"If I gave them intelligence, I'd say that this was a scouting party. Thank the Stone that they're not intelligent. They were probably preying on easy targets." Aeducan said brusquely. He turned to the two reasons they had bothered to fight darkspawn at Lothering's outskirts. "Are you all right, merchant?"

Two other dwarves crawled out from the shelter of an overturned wagon cart. The elder one nodded and accepted the hand up Aeducan offered. "Mighty timely arrival there, my friend. I'm much obliged." He was stout, like all dwarves, and fair-haired. His eyes had that pinched look of someone who spent too long by candlelight marking out profits.

"You're welcome." Aeducan said. He half-turned to nudge a fallen hurlock over. The corpse had a helmet and golden armor that the others didn't. A captain, perhaps? He made a note of that and turned back as the merchant spoke again.

"The name's Bodhan Feddic, merchant and entrepreneur. This here is my son, Sandal. Say hello boy."

"Hello," Sandal did as his father bade. He was clean-shaven and Aeducan could sense the lyrium on his person as clear as if he walked into a mining shaft full of it. While dwarves were mostly immune to magic and the magical quality of lyrium veins, it was said that if a dwarf lost his Stone-sense on the surface, too much lyrium would addle his mind much like a surfacer's. Watching Sandal made Aeducan realize that theory wasn't too far off.

"It's good to meet other dwarves up here. Surfacers aren't quite the same, know what I mean? Road's mighty dangerous too. Mind if I ask what brings you out here? Perhaps we're going the same way."

Aeducan chuckled. The merchant was crafty, he'd give the man that. If they did travel together, he'd had caravan guards without the price. "I doubt you'll want to travel with Grey Wardens."

"Grey Wardens!" He looked them over once more. "That does explain a lot. No offense, but I think there's more excitement on your trail than the boy and I can handle. Allow me to bid you farewell and good fortune though."

Aeducan inclined his head. "The Stone guide you." He watched them turn to the overturned cart, Bodhan muttering about the mess, before he went over to Brosca. "We should find the others and warn them of the darkspawn."

Brosca dropped the dagger she'd been eyeing and nodded. "Sure." She trotted up to his side and followed him back towards the human village. After a meter or two, though, she halted and told him to wait. He watched on as she hurried back to the battle, stooped and collected the dagger. When she caught up to him, she didn't acknowledge his amusement.

"There you are!" A warm voice called from across a field of human merchants, each far greedier than their neighbor. Aeducan caught sight of Alistair's splint mail, the few rays of sunlight that escaped the cloud cover above bouncing off the templar's armor. The three Wardens met up, Aeducan glancing about for Surana.

"Where's Neria?" Brosca asked Alistair, sheathing her new weapon.

"She was right behind me- wait-" he turned around. "Oi!"

Surana and a red-headed woman wearing a leather tunic both darted their heads out from behind one of the distant carts.

"Probably saw jewelry or something shiny and got sidetracked," Alistair muttered as he waved them over.

"Who's the new girl?"

"Leliana. She's a lay sister in the Chantry, or she was, before Surana commissioned her for our mission?" He tilted his head. "Say that five times fast."

"You didn't report in to the Wardens?" Aeducan frowned. "Did you find them?"

"Why do we have another human coming along?" Brosca scowled.

Alistair held up his hands. "Hey, hey, not my fault!" He turned around and gestured for the two again before he answered their questions. "There are no survivors from the King's Army, that includes Grey Wardens-" he waved off Brosca's question. "There's also a daft notion that the Grey Wardens killed the King. A good man in the Chantry told me, and when I ran into Surana again, Leliana confirmed it."

"Do the others know?" Aeducan asked.

Alistair shrugged. "I don't know, but we should find them and … and make a new plan." He swallowed, his voice turning thick. "If-if all the Wardens are dead then we're the… we're the only ones left."

Aeducan reached out to grab his elbow, steeling the templar. "We will honor their memory tonight; but right now I need your focus."

"You're right." Alistair said, standing straighter. "Of course you're right." He let out an exasperated sigh and turned around a third time. "Will you both-" He cut off, going rigid.

"What?" Brosca leaned around. "What's wrong?" Aeducan looked to where Alistair had, only finding the two girls making their way towards them. He did note that there was a new flurry of action near the Chantry.

"Magic." Alistair gritted, shaking off his first reaction and turning westward. "Morrigan's magic."

"How do you know that?" Aeducan inquired but received no answer. Alistair was already running towards the bridge that bisected the village. Templars that had been milling about or talking amongst themselves or to the many refugees who expected the impossible to be done for them were now all staring as intently towards the source of magic Alistair sensed. Like a herd of deepstalkers, the templars dropped what they were doing and like the pack, circled around and aimed for the scent of fresh meat.

Aeducan did not take off after Alistair for two reasons. It would have looked odd for two dwarves to chase towards the same source that the templars were flocking to, and Surana and the human woman called out to them.

"What's wrong with Alistair?" Surana asked, her eyes on the fleeing templar. She must have caught sight of the others falling in behind them, as her face paled and her eyes widened. "Oh. Do you think it's-"

"We aren't to think at all about magic, remember? Right now, we can't afford to make that our problem." Aeducan gruffed. He turned his attention to the chantry sister. "You are Leliana?"

She had a pretty smile, he noted. "Yes! I will be coming along with you to stop the Blight."

"You are Orlesian," he said. "I did not know that Ferelden and Orlais were on speaking terms."

Leliana's eyes hardened a fraction into a cold slate color at the mention of Orlais but the tell vanished before Aeducan could really pick up on it. "I was born in Ferelden, I returned here a few years ago."

"I meant nothing by it, miss. Orzammar is far situated from any surfacer politics. I just found it intriguing. I had not heard the accent since the last Provings held for the honorable Chevaliers that opened up a lucrative gem and ore deal, perhaps ten years ago?"

"Oh yes, I heard about that." The smile returned to her lips and Aeducan felt his job was done. He turned to Surana and was taken aback by the furious glare she gave him. "Yes?"

"Why aren't we running with Alistair to warn or help them?"

Aeducan shook his head. "If we expose ourselves as allies, you could be captured alongside Morrigan. With you free, we have a decent chance to ambush the templars as they leave Lothering to take the apostate to the Circle." At her look, he explained. "A few of your apostates used Orzammar's dust town as a sanctuary."

"Where they'd stay just fine and dandy until a duster needed decent coin to put food on the table." Brosca finished for him. "Templars would come through, pick 'em up, we'd get paid, and food was available."

"You sold apostates to the Circle?" Surana lifted a hand to cover her mouth. For Brosca's part, the rogue simply shrugged, the mage's shock unaffecting her.

"I had to do a lot of dirty deeds to survive, long-ears. I'm not going to repent wanting to keep alive." She turned and gave Aeducan a pointed look. "Morrigan saved my life back at Ostagar and I owe her one. I can't leave her to the templars. This isn't some Deep Roads drill. I'm not a soldier under orders and you're not my commander." She spun on her heel and leisurely made her way over the bridge, Surana and Leliana directly behind.

"Stone-dense duster." Aeducan allowed himself to curse before he too walked towards the convergence of commotion. As he crested the bridge a cry of alarm rang out.

"The murderer has escaped!" A templar shouted as he rushed towards the bridge.

"Murderer?" Surana looked up to Leliana, who had an expression of dawning recognition on her face.

"A Qunari brought here. He killed a family."

"Ten silver says that our friends had something to do with it." Brosca muttered, unsheathing her daggers. Aeducan picked up on her cue and unslung the shield from his back.

"You're right, we should gave them a chance to escape further into the trees." He said. With the approaching templar running up the bridge, Aeducan had the upper hand. There was no effort needed in the sharp, downward slam of the shield against the plate of the templar's helmet. It was followed up by a concentrated shove that sent the dazed man reeling back and over the side of the bridge. A splash announced he had landed in the shallow, murky creek below.

Aeducan casually glanced to see if anyone had noticed the untimely dive of the man. No one had. They were too busy circling up like corralled nugs to listen to the barked orders of a man used to chasing after petty thieves and drunkards. He shouldered his shield and glanced to his companions. Leliana was gaping at him while Surana was bent over the stone barrier to check on the fallen man. Brosca struggled to keep a smirk hidden but she lost the battle as a chuckle escaped her. "Shall we find the others?" He gestured as if they were descending steps into a dance hall to meet their accompanying partners for the night.

"Of course." Brosca chuckled again and tucked away the darkspawn dagger she had picked up. He sensed her falling into step behind him as he moved down the bridge and past the templars. They were a meter or so from the group, with a clear path towards the Imperial Highway where the others were when a voice called out 'halt!' behind them.

"Yes?" Aeducan turned to the approaching templar. He was taller than the others, his shoulders as broad as any dwarf. Aeducan pulled himself to his own impressive height (for a dwarf) and squared his own shoulders. "Speak, human. I need to get on the road again or miss the merchant caravan."

"A prisoner has escaped by use of forbidden magic-"

"Look at my company." Aeducan cut off the templar with a fierce jab towards the others. "Do any of them look like your escaped prisoner or a mage?"

"N-no, ser dwarf." The templar answered, but looked over each of the women. His eyes caught on Leliana. "Sister Leliana?"

"Hello Ser Kyron." Leliana smiled and did a shallow curtsey.

"What are you doing out of the village?"

"Well, this caravan is heading west, towards Orlais." Leliana bit her lip, glancing down shyly. Aeducan had to note her talent at lying. "I felt that it was time to return home, no? The Revered Mother has been pushing for us younger sisters to leave and…"

"Say no more, I understand." Ser Kyron nodded. "It is a shame that we will no longer hear your beautiful voice singing after supper, though."

"You flatter me." She blushed. "Which prisoner escaped?"

"The murderous Qunari, Lay Sister. We felt a burst of magical energy and when we arrived, his cage was shattered open from the outside. I fear he has an accomplice or perhaps he could even wield blood magic himself."

"Oh, no!" Leliana gasped. Her eyes widened, her mouth pursed in horror. She leaned forward as if they were sharing a secret. "Do you think he might have gone into the old windmill, down by the river? I overheard some of the recruits shamelessly explaining how it was such a wonderful hiding spot to escape training with a bar maid."

Ser Kyron straightened. "We did not think … yes, the Qunari could not have gone far on foot without being spotted. The windmill is his best attempt at freedom and his final resting place." He gave Leliana a sharp salute. "The Maker watch you, Lay Sister Leliana. Have a swift and safe travel to Orlais."

"May He guide you on your path as well, Ser Kyron." Leliana curtsied once more. When the templar disappeared into the crowd of his peers, she faced Aeducan. "Do you have a way to contact your friend, Alistair?"

"No, why?"

"Ser Kyron is the most paranoid man I have ever met. If he suspects you, he will hound you until he has reason to take you in." Leliana's voice grew harsh. "He's one of the templars that abuse the power of the Chantry for his own petty ambitions. Many of the outlying farms have fallen prey to 'protection extortion'."

"Sounds like a cartel to me." Brosca shrugged. "What's your plan then?"

"We need to leave Lothering without drawing suspicion to ourselves."

Aeducan watched her wince as she stated the obvious. "I spoke the truth. We will walk out with the caravans." He pointed towards the stout forms of Feddhan and his son picking their way through the rubble littering the Imperial Highway above them. "That one owes us his life."

"Oh." Leliana shouldered her pack. "You seem to have this under control. Ah, lead the way?"

* * *

It took little effort to convince Feddic to allow them to travel alongside him outside of Lothering. The dwarf had the shrewd countenance of a wily merchant looking to cut a deal no matter the situation, but he respected the merchant's sense of duty. His son, Sandal was quiet company, riding along in the cart and focused on a set of runes spread over the wooden floor before him.

The sun was beginning to sink towards the Frostback mountains when Aeducan caught a glimmer of light bounce off a figure on the side of the highway about forty meters up ahead. At twenty meters, he lowered his guard as Alistair hailed them.

"Wait here a moment." Aeducan told Feddic and approached Alistair. The two warriors clasped forearms in greeting. "Everything is all right?"

"The others are waiting for us." Alistair jerked his chin to a large raven perched in the branches above him. "Morrigan knows the way."

"Did you see what happened?" Aeducan asked, but Alistair waved the question off, looking pointedly at Feddic. Aeducan picked up on the cue and turned to the waiting merchant. "My gratitude to you, but this is where we part ways."

Feddic nodded and turned to help Surana off the wagon. "Not a problem!" He said, his tone light. "I was happy for the news from home and the company was welcome on these long trips." He tipped his head to the women before addressing Aeducan once more. "There's a human town along this highway. Two weeks ride to the west. I believe it's called Redcliffe, anyways, me and my boy will have to resupply there. If you find yourself in that direction-"

"We will keep an eye out for you." Aeducan assured him and stepped back to give the ox-driven cart room to pass. Aeducan assured him and stepped back to give the ox-driven cart room to pass. The company watched the dwarves continue on until the curve of the road hid them from view.

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews! I feel like I'll need to step up my game if I want to have this complete before Dragon Age 2 comes out. For all of those interested in the pairings, don't worry. Next chapter will reveal one of them. Until then!


	14. Brosca: Treaties

**Brosca: Treaties**

She would never admit it, but Brosca was relieved when Morrigan escorted them to what looked like an abandoned hunting lodge. The wooden shelters were old, and smelled of dust, but they were dry and there were several bedrolls to spread out over the creaky cots that didn't look like they'd support any of their weights. It wasn't a tavern, but it wasn't the cold hard ground either. The smell of cooking meat made her mouth water. She looked up from claiming a smaller bed in the furthest corner of the smaller building to watch Surana and Mahariel both focus their attentions on the large cooking fire in the center of the camp. Between the two of them, their combined herb knowledge already promised to place up a decent meal for once, now that there were proper cooking tools around.

Mahariel had caught a young deer, the creature thin but with enough meat to support their diets for at least a few days. The hide was bundled up in an old water trough, Mahariel mentioned that leather was useful for many things, and if they were to be travelling on foot, it would come in handy, especially to ward off the snow when turned into shoes. Brosca didn't know what he meant by snow, but at the looks the surfacers gave, she figured it wouldn't be pleasant.

"I wonder why this place was abandoned," Alistair mused from her left, dropping his shoulderguard with a loud clang. "I mean, the place looks dusty, but it all looks in one shape like the owners just decided to leave in the middle of whatever they were doing."

"It could be because there's a marauding horde of darkspawn creeping up from the south ready and willing to slit their throats without pause?" Brosca rolled her eyes and passed by him to head outside. The night air was

"Oh, right. Darkspawn. How could I forget them seeing as they're so unforgettable. I remember. They did not send me a basket for Summersday." Alistair followed behind her. When she tossed him a look over her shoulder, he had an expression of utmost innocence on his face.

"You know," she stopped suddenly. He stumbled to avoid falling into her. "You remind me of Leske."

"Leske?"

"My old partner in crime down in Dust Town. Always had a lame joke to spare, even when the times were tough and he was hurting."

"I'll have you know that my jokes are not lame, they are insightful witty remarks about our current situation, whatever it may be- where are you going?" Alistair called out after her as she shook her head and went on an impromptu perimeter check of their current home-away-from-home. It wasn't far from Lothering; if the templars were truly hunting them as Leliana feared, they weren't that well-hidden and someone from Lothering must know of the abandoned hunting camp. If she thought on it, she was probably overreacting and giving into a paranoia ingrained into the minds of every duster who tried to make a living beyond whoring themselves out to the nobles who wandered into the back alleys of Dust Town.

Always double check. Then triple check. Make sure you never offer up everything that you know, even to family. Suspect everyone, trust no one. Brosca cast a wary eye onto the small makeshift lean-to Morrigan had built up. The witch was there, bent over an array of herbs spread out over a flat pumice stone. She glanced up to meet Brosca's approach with those vivid golden eyes.

"Ah, I suppose you'll want to learn about herbology as well?" She sounded vaguely amused, and her features weren't darkened by a sneer for the moment. Looking at her, Brosca was reminded of a young horse they had passed in Lothering. Gangly, thin, and looked like there was still quite a bit of growing to do; in the soft glow cast off from the fire, Morrigan looked much the same.

"Eh?" Brosca didn't need the answer, as it poked its head out from behind Morrigan. Tabris was tucked up into a corner of the shelter, a slender book in her lap and smaller samples of the herbs Morrigan had before her. The elf girl smiled broadly at Brosca and waved. "What's the point of learning about what flowers to pick? Surana's the healer, right?"

"Not everything that grows is beneficial," Morrigan picked up a long-stemmed flowering fern with light pink and lavender petals. "This plant, for example, is truly harmless when left alone to its own devices in the wild. The Chasind use the plant as a hallucinogenic for both their shamans and the young men's vision quests. In small amounts tis harmless, save for experiencing an odd vision or two; however if concentrated enough, the visions will overwhelm the imbiber and cause a brief paralysis as their bodies seize up. The extract Is thick and sticky, making it a perfect poison to splash over a blade so long as you have a care to not nick yourself in the process."

"Is it deadly?" Brosca wondered, taking the plant from Morrigan and spinning it around in her hand.

"If distilled properly, the extract can be boiled down even further, making the poison all that more toxic. Mother never traded with the outside world so I could not find any agents to test that theory." Morrigan shifted to gingerly take the book from Tabris' willing hands. Brosca could see that the pages were all handwritten with detailed sketches. She couldn't read the words, but it was clear that it was Morrigan's own accumulated knowledge written down onto paper.

"It must have taken years to learn all of this," Brosca murmured approvingly, glancing at each of the herbs, pausing only to gain Morrigan's nod of permission before handling them.

"Kallian gave me the idea to try and make these capable of sticking to your blades during the battle." Morrigan spoke as Brosca examined each of the assorted herbs. "She mentioned that the darkspawn seem to feel no pain?"

"Yeah," Brosca set down a gnarled root that left her fingers numb and tingling. "They still keep going even when you've eviscerated them and their innards are splashed onto the mud. It's like they're dead inside."

"Yet you can stun them with a well-timed strike, no?" Morrigan questioned, flipping through the pages. She looked up when Brosca nodded then back to the pages. "Very well, I'll try and brew the potions that hinder them through paralyzing the body and other things along that nature." Her eyes danced with mischief as she looked to Brosca again then slyly cast her glance to Aeducan entering the camp. "Then again, some of these herbs can be used for other activities."

Brosca won the fight to keep from blushing and steeled her voice when she answered. "I don't know what you're talking about, Surfacer." She ignored the giggles from Tabris. "Furthermore, if I did know what you were attempting to suggest I would have to inform you that I do not need herbal remedies to enhance my abilities."

"From what I've seen I agree." Aeducan's baritone voice washed over the three women, and turned Tabris' giggles into a full-blown laughing fit. Even Morrigan's smirk was bordering on a wide grin. Brosca turned to see her fellow dwarf standing above them like a paragon statue. By the Stone, she swore he was posing, even!

"Shut up. Girl talk over here." Brosca growled and clambered to her feet, determined to use all ofher height to her advantage. "Go away."

Aeducan leaned around her to spy the still-laughing Tabris before arching an eyebrow. "I am sure that the importance of your 'girl talk' can wait until later. Cousland's brother has something for us." He looked to Morrigan. "He asked to speak with you too."

"Me?" Morrigan frowned and tucked away her book. "Why? I do not know him." Even as she wondered, she was getting to her feet. She cast a scornful look down to Tabris and nudged the elf with a boot. "Up, you." When the elf was also upright, the three girls followed Aeducan over to the fire where Surana doled out the first servings of the stew she had prepared. Once everyone had been given a share of the dinner and managed to at least eat a portion of it, Fergus coughed to break the silence.

He looked a lot like Cousland, it was clear to anyone that they were related. Same set of dark green eyes, tousled brown hair, chiseled features. The only difference was that Fergus appeared more rugged and broad in the chest where as Cousland was lean, the muscles not as prominent. "I wasn't at Ostagar when the main battle happened. My scouting party was ambushed earlier and further south in the Wilds. I was rescued by an elderly woman who told me what occurred when I came to a few days after the massacre. She called herself Flemeth."

"My Mother rescued you?" Morrigan's interest perked and she listened with more attentiveness than she had previously given.

"She told me about Ostagar, how Loghain abandoned the King on the field -"

"Wait, he… what?" Alistair surged upward. "He abandoned them to die? And they're calling us the traitors!" He was coaxed into sitting by Surana, a trickle of blue energy flowing between the pair. When Alistair was seated once more, Fergus continued.

"She had gone amongst the battlefield and retrieved a packet she claimed was of dire importance; that it was the only way to save Ferelden from this Blight." Fergus pulled out a leather packet that had Duncan's seal upon the front cover. He handed it to Alistair. "She said you would understand what was inside."

Alistair opened the packet up and pulled out the ancient papers inside. "The treaties!" He handed them to Aeducan. "She managed to recover the treaties for us. She's not just some crazy old woman then."

Morrigan scoffed but Fergus spoke before she could toss an insult Alistair's way. "She also wanted me to give her daughter this." He handed over a slightly crumpled letter. Morrigan snatched it eagerly and opened it. She slumped and threw the letter into the fire when she finished. She didn't offer up what Flemeth had written for her and the focus of the group gravitated back to the treaties.

Aeducan held the papers up one after another, committing them to memory before moving onto the next one. "Alistair, did Duncan ever tell you what these were for?"

"Just that they were some of the most important documents that every Grey Warden Order could have; when you were recovering from the …well, when you were out, he mentioned that Orlais believed these documents had been lost."

"What makes them so important?" Brosca asked, setting her empty bowl aside.

"They command aid for the Grey Wardens during the time of a Blight that neither nation nor clan can refuse. The Dwarves, the Elves, there's even a treaty commanding the newly forged Circle of Mages to give aid." He glanced to the last one, then looked at the humans. "There's a newer one calling for Ferelden to take up arms as well. If you knew a noble that we could trust-"

"Arl Eamon." Cousland said immediately. Already he exchanged a glance with his brother, then with Alistair, the other two humans nodding in agreement. "Not only is he trustworthy but his army had not yet reached Ostagar. We would have the numbers along with an ally who can guide us politically if Loghain has usurped the crown."

"That act alone will assure his allegiance to our cause," Fergus drained his bowl with a long gulp. He set it aside and leaned forward to the fire. The harsh light cast his features into shadow, making him seem more fierce than his bright eyes and easy smile showed.

"Arl Eamon, the noble in charge of Redcliffe, yes?" Aeducan tucked the treaties back into the leather pouch. "A sound plan; Redcliffe is on the way to both the Circle and the Dwarves; which leaves the Dalish." He addressed Mahariel. "Theron, could you track a clan down?"

Mahariel inclined his head after a moment's pause. "It will take some time, but yes, I can find one of the Clans summering in Ferelden."

As the men went into discussions of war strategy and allegiances, subjects that were useful in preparing Brosca for a nap and little else, the dwarven rogue hopped to her feet and thanked Surana for the evening meal. A last glance over the assembled group and she made her way to her bedroll. It wasn't long after her head hit the makeshift pillow that she fell asleep.

* * *

She woke to a shadow blocking the moonlight streaming in from the broken door. Instinctually she bolted upright and had her dagger pressed against the figure's throat before she slumped back in recognition. She smacked Aeducan's shoulder loudly and tossed the dagger aside her pillow. "By the ancestors are you insane? I could have slit your throat!"

"You didn't though," he pointed out. "Are you well?"

"Am I well?" She repeated him, her brow furrowing. "Of course I'm fine, I just don't find the talk about armies and stuffy meetings to be my sort of deal, y'know?" She reclined back onto her elbows, preparing to roll onto her side and go back to sleep now that his question was answered but a hand at her wrist stopped her. She glanced up to him questioningly.

"Sleep well," was all he said and the moment passed. He stood up and left and soon the sounds of the camp came back into focus. She could hear Alistair's snoring; the clank of armor as Sten patrolled past the open door, his giant stature blotting away the outside from view as he walked. Surana's soft tones mixed with Morrigan's sardonic murmurs as they discussed arcane theory, the conversation quickly elevating beyond Brosca's ability to follow.

The second time Brosca's head hit the pillow, rest did not come easily to her. Instead Aeducan's eyes haunted her thoughts and she wondered over and over again what his motives were for that odd moment before she finally succumbed to sleep.

* * *

A/N: First glimpse of one (maybe two, who knows!) of the future couples. I know folks have inserted Alistair into the running, but he's got so much love in the fandom I wanted the other characters to have some time in the limelight. As always, read and review.


	15. Cousland: Secrets

**Cousland - Secret**

Unsure if Loghain had sentries posted on the Highway the company travelled a mile or so to the south of the winding road, sending Mahariel north to check their position when they stopped for a meal or for the night as it was too dangerous to travel then. They were now two days out from Redcliffe, tucked into a cave system built into the southern cliffs of Lake Calenhad recovering from an ambush of darkspawn in a river ravine.

Cousland's right shoulder was an ugly mess of mottled purple and red and the numbing agent of one of the health poultices that Morrigan ritually crafted every night had already faded, leaving his shoulder as a dull, hollow ache that ground into his awareness if he did anything but breathe.

"I don't understand why Surana just can't heal it," he groused to Sarim, the ever-faithful hound resting against his thigh. "She's our healer. That is what healers do. They heal hurt people. I am a hurt person."

"She is low on lyrium and needs to prioritize the injuries she can expend mana on." Fergus commented from his perch on an overhanging rock. He was throwing rocks into the underground river that ran past their hide-a-way, tiny splashes accentuating his speech. "Your shoulder will be fine if you keep that poultice on it and rest it tonight. I'll take your watch shift."

"And if we are attacked tomorrow? What then? I can't swing that greatsword with this shoulder, Fergus." Cousland knew he was dangerously close to whining, if not already there; it was habit though. After Fergus had joined their company he had willingly stepped down from the burgeoning leadership role he shared with Aeducan and Mahariel and allowed his brother to take over. It wasn't as if Fergus wasn't trained for the task; he was the next Teryn of Highever and was the acting Commander of their father's forces when their father was absent. Since Cousland's birth, he had never needed to put himself out there because of Fergus. It was the same here: now that Fergus was in charge, Cousland could let go of the mantle of leadership and just follow orders.

"We have two more days ahead of us if we keep this pace up." Fergus said after a while, his tone cautious. "If your shoulder still feels terrible in the morning I'll ask her to check on it and if she's got the lyrium to spare to see to it, all right?"

Sarim give a questioning whine, butting Cousland's head. The young noble wrapped an arm about the mabari. "I'll be fine you oversized puppy." Voices from the back of the system caught his attention and he turned to watch the newest addition to their odd assembly walk out from one of the deeper caverns with 'The Pack' as he named them. They had found the golem, called Shale, back at a small village already overrun and left for dead by a marauding band of darkspawn. After a deal with a demon, they promised the survivors that they'd 'just take the golem and go'.

"Does the tiny elf think green clashes too much with the runes?" Shale's voice was loud even when it was trying to whisper. That made Cousland's brow rise as he craned around to watch Tabris hurry to assure the golem that her worries were unfounded. Behind them, Brosca carried a sack that faintly glowed, her face dusted with dirt and grime from crawling in dark tunnels, and Morrigan was adjusting her vest- she must have shapeshifted.

"Do girls always travel in packs?" Alistair sat beside him, offering a waterskin. His eyes were on the four as they Cousland nodded as he took it.

"They do." Fergus answered from above them. He leaned over to snatch the waterskin before Cousland could take another drink. As his brother sputtered a protest he laughed. "I personally think it's a defense mechanism from Aedan's terrible grasp of charm and wit."

"Hey!" Cousland scowled upward. Fergus ignored him but dropped the skin in his lap.

"Sorry, little brother. Truth hurts." Fergus swung his legs over and landed on the opposite side of him. He also slumped against the cool cave wall. "Why do you ask Alistair? Going to try to separate one of them? Go in for the kill?"

"What is he talking about?" Alistair peered around Cousland to stare at Fergus.

Cousland chuckled as Fergus continued. "Personally, I'm married; so I can only sit and look from afar. Thankfully, the Maker answered my prayers for a little respite and that gorgeous dark haired beauty strips on an hourly basis. I don't think she knows the word modesty or what it even means - are you blushing?" He pointed out the red tinting Alistair's cheeks. "You are!"

"I am not, it's hot in here. Stop laughing." Alistair scowled at Fergus. "You shouldn't be looking!"

"Why not? The Maker gave me eyes to take in all the beauty of his world, did he not?" Fergus' gaze went pointedly back towards watching Morrigan pass by.

"And you say it's because of my lack of charm and wit?" Cousland shook his head at his brother's obvious leer before turning back to Alistair. "Look, if you want to talk to Kallian just lure her away with a question."

"A question? What sort of question?"

"Any sort, really. Try to make it one that will make the other two not want to talk to you." Cousland smirked. "So, in Morrigan and Brosca's case, anything that you say."

"Aedan, it is first watch. Do you want to accompany me?" Leliana called from the front of the cave, twilight visible behind her. Fergus called out a yes and hopped to his feet.

"Actually Alistair, if you're looking for a steamy first-time, I'd have my eye on Morrigan. She's bound to be as feisty under the sheets as she is above them and take it from me; spirited women make the best lovers." Fergus clapped a hand on his shoulder, "I'll take your watch, brother," and jogged to join Leliana at the entrance, holding an arm out for her to take only to be laughed at before he was indulged.

When he was gone, Cousland shook his head. "I think Morrigan's as likely to turn into a spider to eat you as she is to lay with you -what's that look for?" He frowned for Alistair was staring at him with a mixture of astonishment and something else.

"You haven't told him?" Alistair's voice was a shocked whisper, the words tumbling fast from his mouth. "Maker's Breath Ae-"

"It hasn't come up in conversation. " Cousland bristled. Beside him Sarim cocked his head in confusion at the sudden shift in tension. "There hasn't been a right time, Alistair. Don't look at me like that."

"His family is dead and you're waiting for the right time? When, exactly? When he talks to someone else and they give him the bad news his brother should have?" The templar's voice was growing louder and the girls were starting to glance their way. Even Aeducan, who had been busy tending to armor repairs was now looking their way.

"I'll tell him when I tell him. Drop it Alistair!" Cousland growled and got to his own feet. He stormed past the pack of girls and the golem and felt their eyes follow him even as their conversation stalled. He whirled on them, causing Tabris to flinch and Brosca to scowl. The golem didn't react, while Morrigan's eyes narrowed in challenge. "Don't you four have something better to do than gossip? I think supper's late to go onto the fire, get on that." He snapped and continued on his way outside.

The gleam of Mahariel's eyes clued him into the Dalish tucked into a high crook of a nearby tree. He ducked under the low-slung branches and made his way through the undergrowth until he was at the water's edge. They were camped near a still eddy in the water, the water as smooth as glass. The rising moon reflected off the surface as Cousland kicked a pile of rocks into the water, breaking the surface tension. The ripples spread out, disrupting the serene reflection of the sky above.

"Alistair meant well."

Cousland snorted. He didn't bother to turn and address the speaker. He glared out over the lake, at the barely visible outline of Castle Recliffe on the northwestern cliffs. His silence must have been taken as an invitation to stay as they came up to stand beside him to stare over the lake.

"But Alistair doesn't know what it means to be born with a brother that already has his life planned out for him. Trian, my older brother, was set up to be our next king. There was nothing else to the decision. Since I could remember he had to deal with subject matters that no child should have to learn; how to handle nobles, how to command, how to lead troops into battle and make the decision that would mean that some of those men never came home. He was firstborn, and some said he was born lucky, but they're saddled with the responsibility of the family line." Aeducan folded his arms behind his back. "When rumor started up that there was unrest in the castle, that talk of fratricide was becoming common; I didn't talk to Trian about it. I didn't think he needed another worry to pile onto the mountain he had to carry with him every day."

Aeducan turned to face him. "My concern for my brother killed him."

"This isn't the same."

"Perhaps not the situation, but the intent behind it. You do not want to cause your brother more pain, but if your lie of omission is revealed by another, it might break him. You are his only family left, Aedan. It is your duty to tell him."

"How do I tell him that his son was gutted and his wife lay in a pool of her own cooling blood while I was busy tumbling the elf maid?" Cousland didn't meet Aeducan's gaze. "Or that Father was stabbed and dying as Mother commanded me to flee like a coward into the night? That I could have stopped it all?"

"How could you have stopped it? Did you know of the attack beforehand?"

"Of course not!" Cousland snarled, "but I should have seen the signs! Why weren't Howe's forces heading south with ours, why his family were not staying with ours, though it's customary for the Teyrn to host the Arls and Banns of their Terynship during times of war…"

"The attack on your family was not your fault."

"I could have saved Father… picked him up and carried him out. Mother was a battle-maiden in her youth, she and Sarim could have guarded the rear as I carried Father out into the night."

"You were hounded by bandits non-stop since you escaped. Remember how I found you?" Aeducan reasoned. "You would have had no time to staunch the bleeding and without a healer or strong poultice, your father would not have survived."

"I can't tell him that I did everything that I could and it still wasn't enough. I can't." Cousland pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I know." Aeducan rested a hand on Cousland's shoulder before he walked away. Cousland stared at the dancing, distant lights from Redcliffe castle over the water until the moon was high in the sky and it was Morrigan and Surana's turn on watch. He trudged over to the two mages, his eyes tracking the play of magic between them.

"Oh, hello Aedan." Surana smiled his way. She had been outside gathering firewood earlier, probably had no clue about the earlier tension within the party. He returned her smile, admiring how her oddly snow-white hair caught the glow from the fire, spinning her hair into a mixture of scarlet, copper, and bronze where the light touched.

"Neria." He bowed slightly. "Do you two mind an audience? I don't feel like turning in just yet."

"Sure, if Morrigan's all right with an observer." Surana didn't note the narrowed gaze of Morrigan upon him; she clearly remembered his snappish attitude earlier and quite possibly hadn't forgiven him yet.

"T'is not a problem with me if you can keep your hands to yourself. We wouldn't want you to lose a finger or an arm, mm?" Morrigan's smile was predatory, making Cousland feel like a small chamber mouse until her eyes left him. As the girls settled back down and the magic wound up again, Morrigan commented on the process. "Mother never taught me to warp my magic towards healing. She had already started me down one path of manipulating the Fade through shapeshifting and to her, healing would only hinder my learning."

"Why?" Cousland wondered. "They both deal with Fade Spirits right?"

"Not quite," Surana answered as she lifted her hand and spelled out an intricate rune that glowed white-blue in the air. "While it's true that most mages can learn rudimentary healing spells, simple tricks that mimic the effects of an injury salve; Spirit Healers bond with the benevolent Fade spirits to work their masteries of Creation magic, which healing is centered around."

"Doesn't that make you-"

"Abominations? No. There is no possession, only a give and take of magic. It is no different than you using a sword to fight, or a lockpick to open a door." Surana traced an exact copy of the rune hovering in the air on the ground between her and Morrigan. "I become a conduit for the spirit's energy to reknit flesh and bones, staunch bleeding, fix a broken shoulder… things like that. I like to see it as the Maker's blessing to us."

Morrigan snorted. "What would an absentee god care about the workings of magic, mm?" Before Surana could answer, she grabbed the elf's wrists and made her redo the runes until they glowed not only white-blue, but purple as well. "And before you ask, Warden, I am teaching our Circle Mage here how to join her magic with another's through visual cues. 'Twill be useful for canceling out those Emissaries and that disgusting battle fervor they cast down upon the others."

"Will she have to work the runes every time?"

"No," Morrigan said plainly, watching Surana's runes shimmer. "As I said, 'tis a visual cue for her to focus on while her mind imprints on the pathways through the fade towards my own magic. Mother taught this to me to aid against the shamans of the Chasind. Occasionally the fools would try to harm us in the wilds and this allowed me the advantage; 'twas amusing to watch them struggle towards anything once the magic was gone." She watched Cousland again, that look in her eye once more. "You know, 'tis puzzling that you are even remotely interested in magic. Most common men I've met consider it terriyifing to see."

"That's because I'm not a common man?" His joke fell flat. Morrigan _was_ still angry with him for her lip curled into a barely-there sneer as she waited for the real answer. Surana stared curiously at him. "Right. Bad joke, sorry. My father hosted a mage as one of his advisors when pirates threatened the Waking Shore. They had a weather witch and the Highever troops needed to know what they were up against. Father sent me and Fergus to train alongside them so that we would have a healthy respect for the power mages could wield."

"Sounds like your father was a wise man," Surana said. She looked at his shoulder, moving his shirt aside so she could give it a proper glance-over; her touch gentle and assured over the bruised tissue. "You should get some rest, Aedan. If that shoulder is still painful in the morning, I'll see to it again. Put on another poultice before you sleep."

"I shall." He straightened his shirt and headed back inside toward his bedroll. The others were all asleep save for Shale who sat by the fire and stoked the flames when they died down. He did not know which of the two mages were responsible for the odd air current that lifted the smoke up to the ceiling of their encampment and drew it out into the open night air in a tight coil. It enabled them to not have to worry about the firelight being spotted from any onlookers, casual or otherwise. He noted that Brosca's bedroll was closer to Aeducan's than it was the previous night but then again, the seasons were about to turn colder. If Cousland's timekeeping was somewhat accurate, the Annum of Funalis had passed or was upon them soon enough.

Fergus was asleep as well, stretched out over his perch. Cousland sighed and pushed a hand through his hair. He knew he had to tell Fergus the truth of their family, he just didn't know how to. _Tomorrow,_ he vowed. _I will tell him tomorrow_.


	16. Mahariel: Smoke

**Mahariel - Smoke**

"No." The narrowing of Cousland's eyes only heightened the aura of superiority about him. To his left, Fergus Cousland matched his brother's expression, and Alistair backed up the trio of humans forbidding Mahariel from following his instincts.

"You heard the rumors in Lothering; your same brother mentioned the troubles that followed our Order up from Ostagar's killing fields. Surely a little caution -" Mahariel began to speak, but Cousland was already shaking his head, the noble-born shemlen locked into his decision of what the company was to do next.

"Arl Eamon is a stalwart ally of the Couslands; not to mention the royal house of Ferelden herself. He would not have us strung up as common traitors. He would grant us the audience we seek."

"How can you be so sure?" Mahariel knew he was scraping the bottom of the barrel in reasons to sway Cousland towards a more informed foray towards Redcliffe. He bore the same look that the elder of his clan would use when the hunters wanted to scout too close to human settlements for their comforts. It was a look that had bothered him coming from the wiser members of his clans, yet he had accepted it as the way of the Dalish … but when that glare of absolute finality was upon the brow of the shemlens, Mahariel could barely restrain a responding sneer from curling his own lips in disdain.

"We move out when the camp is packed." Fergus turned and spoke to Aeducan, who only nodded once and went to secure his possessions for the hike down into the village. Brosca watched the interplay between elf, human, and dwarf a while longer before throwing her lot behind her own kind and followed Aeducan back into the section of the shelter the dwarves had made their own. For all intents and purposes, the decision was made and the camp was a flurry of activity as the Wardens rolled up bedrolls, scuffed out the fire, and tried to rid the area of signs that someone had stayed there.

Mahariel had packed not long after he woke, a habit born of a nomadic lifestyle. He growled a curse and ducked low enough to scoop up his bow and quiver, slinging the familiar weapons upon his back. He wasn't halfway up the thicket that grew alongside the western edge, a growth of plants that hid the cavern and the small clearing before it from the road when a twig snapped behind him.

"Go back and pack, Dalen." He said, not bothering to turn around to address his stalker. He swung up onto a low-lying branch to hop onto a log. He could follow that up to the other trees and from visual cues, he figured he could move through the close-knit boughs until he had a perfect sighting of the village. It was foolish and a bit arrogant to just assume that they could walk into any encampment without forewarning.

"I want to help scout the village. I'm useless with carrying anything; Aedan says so."

Mahariel snorted. He brushed a large pine out of his way. The Cousland Warden was correct in that assessment. Tabris was far too scrawny and slender to be a pack-bearer; most of their supplies weighed more than she did. Still, though, the image of his refusal still stung fresh in Mahariel's mind. "What does that matter, Dalen? You should be with the group; it is safer for you there."

"You're treating me, oof," he heard her struggle with the same easy-up that he had completed, "like a child again." She sounded on the same level as he was now, and moving closer. He changed that by hopping along the log until he had a momentum to catch a higher branch, pulling himself up onto the rough bark with a grunt.

"According to our ways you are a child." He pointed out, angling his head enough to see her scowl at the path he chosen. "So, it is my right to treat you as such."

Tabris was loud crossing the log. Her feet scrapped the bark, the sound as sudden as the crack of a hammer against the anvil. It was obvious to Mahariel that she had little sense of how to act within the solemnity of the forest. Her breath was as obvious as the pants of a wolf pup during an unsuccessful hunt and every so often he was gifted with a muttered curse as she slipped on moss here or caught her toe on an upturned gnarl in the wood there. "Yeah? How do the Dalish determine if you're a kid or not?"

"The first indication?" He stepped across the branches to a third tree. He glanced behind to see her stumble back as she slipped off the branch and fell hard on the log. "They can walk through the woods no matter the path." He smirked at the glare directed his way. "They are sent on a hunt. If successful they are considered eligible to provide for a family and thus can begin to earn the respect of their peers in the clan, even pair off if they choose to do so."

"So." Tabris sidled along the narrow tip of the log until she could grab hold of a branch and ladder-climb up into the tree. "They use marriage as the sign then."

"Marriage?"

"Fancy way of pairing off. Weddings, the Chantry blesses your union to be fruitful and prosper under the glory of the Maker, yadda yadda, really it's just a good excuse to gather up the Alienage and gossip over plates of food and pints upon pints of beer." Tabris was near-level with him again. This time he waited until she was several steps behind him before he jumped to the next waypoint. He chuckled when she let out a frustrated groan.

"I believe that is an adequate substitution then, though it is not the actual act of pairing off that ends one's life as a Dalen, but the fact that they will be able to support the clan as a full member. I know several boys a few winters older than me that had yet to achieve that simple feat."

"Simple, huh?" Tabris was still a tree behind him. He knew that she couldn't make the jumps he could, but he wondered if she would find a way around or just leave the conversation and her goal of following him here. "So, if I managed to kill a rabbit or a deer, you'd stop calling me a kid?"

"Of course."

She looked up quickly, her blue eyes vivid in the grey and green of the old growth. "Really?"

"No."

Her face twisted into a scowl again and she broke off a dry twig to throw his way. Mahariel watched it fall short. "Fine! Be that way. I hope you slip up and impale your butt on a tree stump." She stepped back against the trunk of the tree she was against.

"Probably would never happen; most of the trees here are healthy, and if there was a stump or a broken tree amongst these, they'd be far too large to properly impale myself upon them - where are you going?"

"You're impossible!" Tabris was already round the tree, he could hear the snap of bark and the rustle of branches as she lowered herself back to the log to cross over to the cliffs. He chuckled a final time and continued on his mission to better scout out the route into Redcliffe village. The Cousland Warden was not his Keeper, nor even an elder; Mahariel did not answer to him.

* * *

Mahariel stared up into the wind as it blew east from the Frostback range. He had left the tree line behind a while ago, the great pines and oaks of the Kocari Wilds giving way to the sparse shrubbery that dotted the tops of the Redcliffe rock. Tucked into the recess of an ancient boulder long worn from wind and grit, he could observe the entire length of the east-west road that they had traveled alongside since adding the golem to their party several days earlier. The sun was passing its zenith when Mahariel neared the fork in the road that split off into a small path carved into the top of the rocks that winded down towards the lakeshore, most likely a goat path. His pace put him several miles ahead of the rest of the Wardens, and the distance served to cool his temper and allow him a brief respite from the constant press of bodies and personalities. It was nothing like living amongst his clan with the Dalish, and such proximity to shemlens bothered him.

For the moment, Mahariel allowed himself a rare lapse in attention. His stride slowed and his gaze wavered between the sprawl of the bogs and trees of the Wilds to the craggy landscape of the lake, and then over the water itself. At first, he noticed nothing but a second glance over the lake forced him to stop and take note.

In the distance, over the horizon, smoke billowed up towards the sky like a bloated spider weaving upward into the blue expanse. There was barely a breeze around him, and he knew enough of raids to know that without a decent wind, smoke could be seen for miles easily. The plume was too massive to be anything less than an attack on an outpost or a settlement, anything smaller wouldn't have been noticeable from such a length.

He stretched out his senses over the surrounding land. Though he had only been a Grey Warden for barely a moon's passing, he had picked up the haunting dirge that signified that darkspawn were near about. The song was both a blessing and a curse. They could never be ambushed by the creatures, but they would have to guard their minds always against the siren call that was the Song; but even as Mahariel sought out, he already had decided that the smoke could not have been related to the darkspawn. It would have been impossible for the Blight to creep past the Wardens unnoticed, and the numbers at Ostagar led him to believe that was where the majority of the darkspawn were located.

The idleness gone, Mahariel sprang into an easy run, effortlessly moving over the dirt and cobbled highway in his path to gain higher ground and a clearer picture of what lay in wait. Though the cliff's pathways were treacherous, the highway itself had been used for millennia, and was packed and smoothed down from constant use. It was easy to close the distance between the smoke and where he had first saw it. He slowed pace only when he spotted travelers on the road; a harried group that turned their head and stared back at the smoke every few meters. They were led by, of all things, an elf. Lean, and with sun-bronzed skin of someone used to life out in the sunshine, the man was a surprising leader of the band.

"Travelers!" He shouted, gaining their attention. "Might I ask of you a question or two?"

The elf stared at him oddly and then came to a halt. Not a moment later, a woman with a herd of children ushered the group to the side of the road and passed out a waterskin, then small chucks of bread. "I thought all the Dalish had left these lands."

"You know I am Dalish?"

"Your tattoos give you away. No city elf family line has those markings. Besides, I've seen them on some of the hunters that traded in Redcliffe." The elf stood a respectable distance from Mahariel, his stance wary. "What do you want to know?"

"The smoke cloud, in the distance. Do you know what caused that?"

"Ah." The elf turned to stare at the ominous shadow in the western sky. "That is the funeral pyre which was once known as Redcliffe."

"The village is lost? To whom? Darkspawn?"

"Darkspawn would have been preferable, I think." The elf shook his head bitterly. "No. It wasn't darkspawn, at least, not any sort of darkspawn that Ser Perth's knights described. These were more ghouls than men, beasts unearthed from graves."

"I don't understand." Mahariel frowned. "What happened?"

"I don't know. We barely managed to escape when the attacks started three nights ago. Green mist poured over the ground and then the monsters appeared."

"Are you the only survivors? What about the Arl? Or the shems in the village?"

"Dead, probably," the elf shrugged. He shifted his weight from foot to foot. "I'd advise you to get away from Redcliffe as fast as possible. If the village managed to live out that first night, they're not going to last much longer. Every night We're heading to the pass, hopefully I can find work with a caravan going west to Orlais. Elves don't require as much pay, which will - for once - be a damned blessing."

Mahariel nodded, though his thoughts were already on judging how long it would take to rush back to the Wardens and push them towards Redcliffe. "Move swift then."

"Yeah, you too." The group passed him and turned onto the westward bound pass that would lead through the Frostbacks and into the Dales. When they were out of sight, he turned around and begged the Creators to grant him the swiftness of a Halaa.

* * *

A/N: I apologize for the length of my absence from this story and from the lack of any updates. Unfortunately events over the holidays killed any inclination to write. Stress and my muses don't get along very well, and it was a struggle to push out this chapter. It's not polished, and it's not what I had originally planned, but I know if I had pushed thi off any longer, Six Degrees might have been cut short here. So, I apologize for the meager update and assure you that with this written, writer's block has lifted somewhat and it should be easier to push updates out. Also, I know there's some timeline inconsistencies but those will be fixed throughout the story as I continue.

Major thanks goes to Lehni, whose story spurred me to continue writing, and whose reviews keep me on the right track. To all of my other readers, another big thank you.


	17. Surana: Nightfall

**Surana: Nightfall**

Surana waited until the horizon bled red from the sunset before she decided it would be appropriate to approach Mahariel. Everyone in the company knew they would not reach Redcliffe before nightfall, and the tension evident in the Cousland brothers and Alistair after the bitter argument set of by Mahariel's scouting report had cast a pall over the group. Even Tabris, who reminded Surana of one of the Circle Garden's birds, ever moving and singing, was silent.

Mahariel acknowledged her approach with a downward quirk of his lips, already expecting the topic of her question. "Yes, Neria?"

"You had to have known their reactions, Theron." Surana attempted a small smile to lessen the blunt of her words. Though the Dalish still kept many secrets, she knew that he preferred to get to the heart of matters quickly.

"I still had to present my own views. At least Cousland is not so much of an arrogant shemlen that he cannot accept that I see the world differently than he does."

"And if the fires had been of a Dalish encampment?" Surana canted her head and easily met his eyes when he glanced sidelong at her. He looked away before nodding briefly, granting her that small concession.

"I would not be as disaffected, true. Yet our duty comes first. What is one village - or clan - compared to the Blight itself? These treaties are a child's dream, but they could be our only chance. Even the Dalish have tales about the devastation of the Blights and the age-long battles to defeat them."

"Our survival was a blessing from the Maker," Surana agreed. "Surely, he must have a plan for us."

"Or perhaps Mythal does not want her people to suffer at the hands of Man's Folly any longer than necessary. Ferelden may be a small country in the world, but this southern strip of land is favored by many of the Dalish."

"Why is that?"

"I do not know," Mahariel shrugged. "Merrill used to say that the shemlen here did not venture into the wilderness as eagerly as the other nations; that more of our history rested undisturbed in these forests. For Keepers and their Firsts, the chance to uncover a new stone and find history is worth as much to them as the safety of the clans they lead and protect." He looked ahead to where Tabris walked with Brosca before he spoke again. "When I was her age, I would hunt through the woods with a clanmate. We would run everywhere and if we were lucky, we would find a fragment of what was lost to give to our Keeper. Tamlen was ... always eager to explore any rumors of elven ruins."

As sorrow tinted his words, Surana stayed quiet until he spoke again. She rested a hand on his upper arm as a gesture of sympathy. He nodded to her again, and continued,"Tamlen had been a companion for as long as I can remember. I will miss him."

"So, what exactly do Keepers do?" Surana broached a subject change and the relief evident in Mahariel's eyes was enough of a thank you for her.

"They are the mages of the people. When a child is born with such a gift, they are presented at the next Arlathvhen and given to a Keeper without a First - an apprentice, you could call them."

"The Dalish do not fear magic?"

"The Keepers and Firsts do not practice it openly as it is an ancient gift is not meant to be used without care or respect, but yes, we do not fear our mages as the shemlen do. It is not a curse from some Father to burden ones soul with as a punishment for an ancestor's sin. Why?" He glanced her way again and took note when she averted her gaze. He reached out to slow her pace, and then faced her fully. "You believe you are cursed?"

Surana's lips curled upward slightly, and the bitterness of her voice left an uneasy taste in her mouth. "Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him. Foul and corrupt are they who have taken His gift and turned it against His children. They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones. They shall find no rest in this world or beyond." She stared down at her hands. "When you're raised up in the Circle, your time is divided between learning control and listening to the Mothers condemning you alongside the first Magisters that walked into the Black City. It's hard to remain optimistic when the Templars prowl the halls just waiting for you to accept a demon's deal and become an abomination."

"Emma abelas, then. Keeper Marethari spoke to us children when Merrill first joined the clan and told us that Merrill had been blessed by the Creators to be a leader amongst the clans, and that she had been given a powerful gift that we should respect." She felt his hand cup her chin and tilt her face upwards, until their eyes met. "You are not cursed, Neria, but blessed with the ancient gifts of our people." There was nothing Surana felt she could answer with, and she felt flushed, so she excused herself from the conversation and hurried her pace so she was on step with Leliana, who cast her a concerned look. On her back, though, Mahariel's gaze lingered for quite a while.

Night was upon them when Alistair finally confirmed that they were at the southern thoroughfare that would lead down the cliffs to Redcliffe proper. The Wardens paused only to light several torches before they pressed on. Thankfully the heat of the day caked the dirt of the trail, keeping the uneasy path downward without the risk of slipping in mud. A whisper blew past her ears and a chill shivered down her spine, halting Surana's step. She stared about them, but found nothing to explain why the darkness beyond the torchlight suddenly gave her heavy sense of foreboding. Her gaze found Morrigan's own, the apostate's furrowed brow and pursed lips silent affirmation that whatever had given Surana pause had also affected her.

"I assume you felt that as well?" Morrigan asked when Surana neared.

"Yes. Do you know what it was?"

"The Veil has been torn nearby; quite possibly at the hamlet Cousland seems determined to drag us to." Morrigan stopped and gave her a puzzled look. "Surely you have experienced this before?"

"No," Surana shook her head. "The templars were firm against anything that would possibly aid a bargain with spirits at the tower. They had the senior enchanters refresh wards daily - but mostly right after a Harrowing. No matter if it was successful or not."

"Mmm." Morrigan gazed out at the dark shadow of the lake, then up to the moonless sky. "Caution should be our concern if we are going to continue. I dislike this." She raised her voice enough for it to carry to Cousland.

"Concern noted," he responded, "but we keep moving."

Morrigan scowled at Cousland's retreating form. "T'is a fool's errand to wander so carelessly into the depths of a sundered Veil but fine, do not heed my advice."

"What will we find?" Surana was not in the mood for another spat between those two so turned Morrigan's attention away from Cousland.

"I do not know." Morrigan gave Cousland one last sneer. "When Mother and I ever neared such a place, she would move us away before night fell, and very few things make my mother uneasy. I only know the sensation of such an anomaly, for she had me study the tears when I was old enough to learn how to avoid them myself, in the event that we were ever seperate. Whatever we face here however, we shall do so blindly."

No sooner than the words left Morrigan's mouth did the wind kick up, a mournful howl that rushed up the path towards them. The sudden gust was powerful enough to rock Brosca off her footing and send the dwarf toppling into Aeducan's side to keep balance on the path. "Shit!" The casteless swore. She pushed away from Aeducan to watch her torch fall down the incline to sputter out in the water. "The Stone was that?" There was no pause between her question and the next fierce gust, this one forcing Shale to hunker down to prevent itself from sliding backwards.

"There!" Alistair shouted, and the company looked up to see a green mist unfurl from the castle on the far side of the village. The mist was sickly in color, a slow crawl that spilled over the drawbridge to splash down into the lake, the water aglow with the same emerald. Surana jerked as something brushed past her shoulder, the mist forgotten as she turned to see what had touched her.

Above and behind, the trail was shrouded in the same green fog that crept down towards their location. Faces swirled in the cloud, contorted in anguish as they unleashed unearthly wails that had Surana slamming her hands over her ears to block them out. It seemed to be a sound only she heard, for she could barely shout out a warning before the mist swallowed Shale. When the fog overtook Kallian, the girl's shriek paired with Surana's surprise was enough to throw the Wardens into action, but it was too late.

Figures rose up in the mist, tall, lanky figures that matched neither elf nor golem. A third gust of wind blew the mist away and placed Surana face to face with a nightmare given flesh. Darkspawn, for all their horror, were supposed to be animate, living creatures. They had a place, albeit twisted, in the Maker's world, but this? Surana shrank back as the corpse stalked forward from the fog, its eyes rolling wildly in open sockets. It noticed her and with a cry lurched forward to sink clawed hands into her flesh - Surana's eyes closed reflexively as she braced for the attack, but she only heard the thud of meat against steel. Her eyes opened to see Alistair crouched before her, and the hands of the corpse pinned between the shield and the cliff wall.

"Are you all right?" He asked, eyeing her quickly for any wounds. She nodded wordlessly and that was his cue to press forward, throwing the corpse backwards. "It's rude to attack ladies!" He shouted, his shield arcing out to strike a second corpse in the jaw, the force dislodging the creature's mandible. Striking the first blow, he snagged the undead's attention and formed the bulwark between the rest of the Wardens and the horde materializing out of the mist. Aeducan stepped into place beside Alistair, taking the outside position. The two kept going until both Shale and Tabris were visible again, the former casually shoving off the endless wave of undead while the later scrambled to the safety behind the shieldwall.

Surana's hesitation faded with the gashes along Tabris' arms and worked healing magic into the fresh wounds. When Mahariel released his first arrow barrage, Leliana's own following right after, she was already weaving up a new twist on the surge of offense that she normally spread over the party. This time, she thought of the solidness of stone and the surety of faith as the magic settled over the two warriors. For a moment, they gleamed gold, shimmering in the eerie glow of the fog before the visual effect faded.

"We cannot stay here," Fergus pointed out, his own shield up to deflect any high reaching arrows. "If they approach from below, we'll be pinned. Our rogues can't hold up a front on their own."

"Thanks for the confidence." Brosca snapped, but it was half-hearted, her voice wavered from the fear of the undead as much as Surana's own composure did.

"Then we keep moving to the village. Slowly -"

"Downwards? You fool, t'is what caught us in this trap in the first place!"

"Perhaps your tongue will be better suited for cursing our enemy then harping at me, no?" Morrigan's glare was murderous but she began to pull at the air in front of her, slowly building up her own torrent of magic to be released. Surana's skin prickled as power flooded the area. "It would be easier for us to battle downhill that fight our way up."

"Then can we move? Soon? I think our friends here are starting to get angry!" Alistair grunted, shoving upwards to throw back a thick-set undead. The motion threw it into a group of its allies, and at least one hissed as it toppled down the incline.

"There is no cover above us. Aedan's right, we need to keep moving down." Fergus turned to Shale. "Can you block the upward path to give us breathing room?"

"Oh, may I? It isn't as if I can feel the bones of humanity clawing away at flesh, no?" Shale grumbled. Still, the golem stood still as the Wardens slowly backed around it, until the last moment, with Aeducan and Alistair maneuvering so that Shale was the blockade. As Shale settled, the golem's gifts began to take effect on the party. The exhaustion from the day-long forced march was gone; washed away by a cool breeze that rippled along the path. It was replaced by an invigorating energy that compelled Surana to call out her wisp, granting the Wardens light as torches were now unwieldy.

"I will shout when we are in position." Fergus promised Shale.

"It is not as if I am in a hurry."

Fergus chuckled and then the company shifted. Now Aeducan and Alistair lead the walk downwards, moving as one to keep up the unbreakable shield wall between them. Behind them followed Mahariel and Brosca, the first with an arrow nocked to go, the second with a jar of sloshing green liquid ready to throw. Then it was Surana and Morrigan, the two mages protected in the center. Tabris, Leliana and the Couslands made up the rear, the four of them with their attention on Shale and the undead she kept at bay as the Wardens descended into the mist below.

* * *

**A/N: **I know this was another long wait. My father was admitted into the hospital again with yet another infection plaguing him and with other life stresses, I haven't had the desire to continue writing. I couldn't even muster up the urge to even play Origins. Thankfully, Dragon Age II was a good enough story to really ignite my desire to see this own retelling through and with life giving another breather, I am going to attempt to have a new chapter up by at least every Monday, to make the updates more consistent. Thank you to everyone still following this, and to the new readers! Your reviews also gave me the willpower to break through the writer's block and keep working. As a reward, there's a second 'confirmed' couple acknowledged in this entry. :)

Read and review, as always! I love feedback.


	18. Tabris: Fall

**Tabris: Fall**

Redcliffe was so quiet that Tabris feared Mahariel's assessment of the village being possibly wiped out was the truth. The atmosphere as they approached was similar to the tense air that had hung over Honnleath while it had been swarmed by the darkspawn, giving the place a cruel mockery of village life. Here though, nothing breathed but the eleven of them. Nothing moved but their shadows, cast over the remains of broken barricades made up of fences, barrels, and sandbags. If not for the creatures that Shale kept at bay back along the path, Tabris wouldn't have believed that there could be something still alive in the midst of these hovels.

When they had broken past the final narrow section of the path, Leliana and Mahariel split from the group, circling in opposite directions around the village with the intent on finding locals, or as the situation appeared; the bodies of locals.

"Where are the hungry corpses?" Brosca's voice echoed in the empty pathway between houses.

"There are only two ways down into Redcliffe besides a sheer drop. The south-eastern path we came in on, or the wider cart path north that breaks off towards the castle itself. If these things are being summoned outside Redcliffe and Shale's blocking the south, then they haven't had time to come from the north yet." Cousland didn't acknowledge Brosca's question. The less spoke on the walking dead, the better, he must have thought.

"Yet." Alistair chimed in. "That means we probably still have a bunch of angry dead people who think we're a tasty meal and I hate to point out the obvious but …we're still in the open."

"Not like a barricade will do us any good." Fergus muttered, kicking over a half-charred one. "It didn't help the villagers." He peered into the shadows around them. "Where are the knights? The army pledged to Ostagar that never arrived? Surely Arl Eamon had the manpower to prevent this from occurring?"

"His knights are out on a pilgrimage for the Arl. Some of them were in Lothering." Alistair stepped over crumbled debris from the barricade Fergus kicked.

"…leaving Redcliffe wide open for an attack." Cousland finished the thought. "Surana, Morrigan; any thoughts? You two are the only experts on the Fade that we have."

Morrigan answered first. She was away from the main group, and her disjointed voice echoed eeriely through the mist around them. "Corpses are abominations -"

"I thought only mages could be possessed?" Surana frowned.

"Hardly. Mages are a delicacy for spirits; we have both the draw of being mortal and with significant power over the Fade. A spirit will try to seduce a mage into a bargain first, 'tis true, but they will not refuse a vulnerable host."

"But these things are dead! They can't possibly be what a demon wants when it comes to possess someone." Tabris rubbed at the back of her neck. It was bad enough that the dead were walking, but now they were possessed dead that were walking?

"Indeed. Spirits cannot tell the difference between the living and the dead on this side of the Veil. They see the body of a mortal and they take it. Once they have merged, they realize their mistake and lash out; driven mad by the cage of rotting flesh they have tied themselves to." Morrigan appeared in the mist, her eyes reflecting the gleam of Surana's wisp. "Mother made sure of my knowledge concerning them. The Wilds held many dangers."

Mahariel appeared on the opposite side of Morrigan, startling the group. "There's a few bodies in the outlying houses, but everyone who lived here fled, or were killed deeper into the village." He gestured towards the direction Leliana had disappeared to. "I do not know what Leliana has found."

"Then we wait for her here." Aeducan gruffed.

"We're going to share the fate of whoever Theron found if we just stand here!" Tabris snapped at him. She kept staring back up the path, expecting to see another mindless corpse rushing down at her. She shoved past Fergus and Alistair to march up to Cousland. "You led us here even when Theron said there might be nothing left! Now you're going to find us a place to hide out! I am not going to become some… some … dead guy's last meal, all right?"

"Calm down, Kallian-" Cousland began, his arms rising to placate her.

"No, damn it! Theron told you it was a bad idea coming here and now we're trapped! Shale's strong, yeah. but they'll find a way around her and if they don't; what about the ones coming in from the north? Or the lake?"

"The lake?"

"You saw that mist! It spilled over like a stew too long on the fire. If the mist is what summons the demons, then it fell into the lake!"

"Then look for a hide-out yourself if you're too scared to fight," Cousland snarled, stooping down slightly to be at eye-level with her. "Maybe you'll find out where the women and _children_ fled, hmm?"

Tabris was grateful that, between both the mist and the wisp, the lighting was a dim grey-green sheen over the group, because she didn't want to give Cousland the satisfaction of seeing the angry flush to her face, or the beginning of tears in her eyes. "You are nothing like what your parents were claimed to be." She growled before shoving past him.

"Kallian!" Surana shouted after her.

"Let her hide! If she wants to be a child, then let her!" If anyone countered Cousland, it was drowned by the oppressive fog. Within moments, even the glow from Surana's wisp was gone. When Tabris stopped to gain her bearings, she found that she couldn't. She suddenly regretted her hasty departure from the safety of the group.

"Shit." She muttered, turning in place to try and pick out buildings or even debris she passed. She went quiet to try and make out voices, but there was nothing but the looming silence. "Shit!" Her words sounded muffled. After the momentary bout of panic, and the surge of fear at wondering where exactly the creatures were … she closed her eyes and quietly recited one of the dirty limericks Shianni used to come up with when they were working long hours at the tavern and there wasn't a sign of going home any time soon. They worked as a distraction then, and they worked as a buffer against the fear rising in her throat now.

A little less jumpy, she decided her best bet to find Cousland and the others was to gain height. To gain height, she'd have to climb but that wasn't anything new for her. How else did the guards expect elves to come and go as they pleased? Plan in mind, Tabris shifted around in the mist and the dark until her hands brushed over a weathered wooden support. She fumbled for a handhold and then jumped, reaching out for another, then another. She worked her way slowly up the side of the building, mindful of the fog and the dangers it hid. She felt for the next handhold before she moved. It seemed like hours, but she scrambled up onto the roof and stared over a sea of mist. She took a step backward to try and gain even more height and slipped, the roof giving way underneath her. She slammed hard against the roofing, her teeth clacking hard together from the impact. Her hands scrambled for any grip, but it was useless.

With a silent cry, Tabris dropped into the dark below.

She came to hearing voices around her. A nearby fire warmed her cheek. She stirred and pain shot up her side, lancing through her ribs.

"She's awake!" She heard a woman say. There was a shuffle of footsteps and then the clank of armor as someone knelt next to her. Her head was raised up and a cup held to her lips. She took a few gulps of water and then allowed herself to be shifted into a sitting position, wincing at the pain.

"You took a nasty fall," a man spoke to her. She still hadn't opened her eyes; there was a terrible ache in her skull. "Sister Paige doesn't believe anything is broken, but we have no true healer here. Take it easy."

The ache in her skull eased enough that she was willing to open her eyes. A man with sandy brown hair and warm hazel eyes smiled at her. "There we go. It's a good sign when a lady can open her eyes once more after such a hit. I'm Bann Teagan, I haven't seen you in the village before. Then again," he chuckled wryly, "I've been away for some time."

Tabris blinked slowly to allow her vision to sharpen. Right now Bann Teagan had a blur about him that probably didn't belong there. When her eyes focus, she gives him a strained smile. "Sorry. Ow. Um. No, I'm not from Redcliffe. I'm from Denerim."

"Denerim?" Teagan sits beside her. "That's a distance."

"Yeah. Um." She glanced around and made out the common touches that made up a Chantry. There was a statue of Andraste, the altar, the shelves upon shelves of scrolls and books. She could smell the incense on the air. When she looked up, she could make out the night sky. "Sorry about the roof."

"Not to worry. It's not often a man has a lovely lady fall onto him. One must take such blessings as they come." His smile was charming, but Tabris only felt the all too common anxiety from spending too long near a strange shemlen man. Her second smile was even more strained. Hopefully he credited that to her injuries and not from his presence. "May I have your name?"

Before she could answer, there was a resounding 'caw!' and the beat of wings. Teagan and her glanced up to see a large raven swoop through the hole in the ceiling to land on a nearby pew. It cocked it's head at her and then hopped down closer. It clacked its beak in apparent annoyance.

The raven's arrival reminded Tabris exactly why she fell through the roof in the first place. "Morrigan!" She exclaimed, reaching out to the raven only to have her arm seize up in protest. She drew the limb up against her chest, her arm now throbbing violently. She turned to Teagan, who still watched the bird. The raven watched him in return.

"I'm Kallian. I'm a Grey Warden."

"A Grey Warden?" That caught his attention. He looked back at her with renewed interest. "You?"

"I was conscripted in Denerim. Look, my companions are out in the village somewhere. We heard that Redcliffe was being attacked and-"

"They're outside? With the Undead?" Teagan frowned. "They'll be swarmed." He rose to his feet. "Murdock!"

"Hey, wait!" She called after him but it was no use. He was already across the Chantry and deep in conversation with a heavily-mustached man. Tabris slumped against the makeshift cot she'd been laid out on and grumbled. Only to yelp when a sharp nip came at her good wrist. "OW!" She glared at the raven, who was most likely Morrigan.

The raven stared up at her with disapproving golden eyes and hopped onto her raised knee to be eye-level. Morrigan snapped her beak a few more times and gave Tabris a critical once-over, then towards the cloaks jammed up to serve as pillows for the elf. She caw'd and jabbed her beak towards a rich purple one and moved to the floor again.

Tabris reached behind herself to tug out the cloak as the raven became shrouded with a purple haze. There was a stretching of form and the buzz of power before Morrigan sat nude where the raven once was.

"Foolish girl," she hissed, reaching out to take the cloak. "Do not wander blindly again, lest I allow you to suffer your fate next time!"

Tabris bristled under the chastisement but knew that she deserved it. She averted her eyes as Morrigan donned the cloak. "I wasn't thinking, I'm sorry."

"That much is obvious." Morrigan sniffed haughtily. "Can you stand?"

"I don't know," she said truthfully. "My arm hurts and it's hard to breathe. Where are the others?"

"They remain where you left them. The golem is quite capable at preventing the creatures from approaching from the cliff. I was to look for you while the others went to the front of the Chantry. The horde can be funneled through the alleys into one area, lessening our troubles."

"They're right outside?"

"Yes. If you are injured, I can simply walk out there and summon Surana, provided the Undead haven't swooped down upon them yet."

"No. No, I'll go to her. They don't need their healer disappearing on them and the Undead deciding to show up right then. That'd be our luck." Tabris gritted her teeth and tried to stand using only her good arm. She got halfway there before Morrigan grabbed her under the shoulder and lifted her the rest of the way. She opened her mouth to thank the witch, only to stumble back as the Chantry rocked from a thunderous explosion.

* * *

A/N: Yes. I know. It's been **forever. **I've come to the conclusion that I'm terrible with updating. But! The reasons for my lack of updating aren't bad; they're good! A new job, the fun of Spring and Summer, and a few trips to amusement parks were what kept me away from the computer. Oh, and Dragon Age II. I think I'm heartbroken that Meredith wasn't a romance option. I think she ranks with Morrigan as 'Most Favorite Dragon Age NPC EVER'. Isabela and Merrill are both good runner-ups, of course, but alas, Meredith has my mage-heart locked in the Gallows /cheesy pun.

I refuse to not finish this though so I will endure and push through! Besides, I want to write out an AU Dragon Age II now but I have to finish this one first.

To everyone who's reviewed: Thank you. You're the reasons why this update even happened. Every review in the inbox was a blessing. I think that without them, I might not have had the urge to pick up a story so long on hiatus. So, again, thank you! All of you!


	19. Aeducan: Battle

Aeducan: Battle

Brosca's unbridled enthusiasm for explosions was something that Aeducan should have become accustomed to by now, after their time spent together from fleeing Ostagar onward; yet each well-timed flask that was shaken, tossed, and consumed by a brilliant reaction of whatever concoction Brosca and Morrigan came up with caused Aeducan to flinch as they went off.

This time he had an excuse for the involuntary flinch though. Brosca's toss had gone wide as the result of one of the undead crashing into her and the trajectory landed the flask wedged between stacked barrels. It was only a heartbeat later that the whole thing went up in a fireball that shook the village.

"What the Maker was that?" Alistar ducked for cover underneath his shield.

Aeducan had the luxury of a dozen corpses between him and the source of the explosion, so the intense heat and shockwave was dampened by the sea of dead bodies, causing him to only rock back several feet to regain his balance quick enough to put down a charging dead. "Ask Natia! Or Morrigan!"

"I'll get right on that!" Alistar recovered from the initial duck and was back at Aeducan's side, hacking away and covering his flank. "Where are they?"

"No clue on the witch; just follow the cackling for Natia." Aeducan turned into a swing, severing an arm from a torso. He caught the frantic movements of Cousland and Leliana as they hurried away from the collapsing structure. Brosca's grenades had blocked off a back alley that the group hadn't noticed until the undead had swarmed them. He didn't know where Mahariel had braced himself, but he could see the deadly accuracy of the Dalish ranger at work with each undead that was set ablaze by a lit arrow.

Surana's presence was felt by a surge of vigor that flooded his body with renewed strength the moment he thought he was beginning to tap into his reserves. Between her spells and the taint pumping in his blood, Aeducan pressed forward into the thick of battle, his swings becoming erratic. Gore spattered upon him, it splashed over his shield as he crushed one against the stone wall of a building, the thing's tongue lolling out of its mouth with a death rattle on its breath.

A great shout rose behind them as light flooded onto the scene. For the first time, Aeducan could see the horror of what they faced completely.

"Oh, that's a shame. I was hoping to save the village single-handedly." Alistair throws his shield wildly to Aeducan's right, clanging hard against the downswing of a rusty sword aimed for the dwarf's unshielded arm.

"Thanks." Aeducan side-steps to allow the relief from the village take up the slack that he and Alistair were more than happy to give up. Surana's renewal and the taint aside, Aeducan was certain that this battle was akin to a Legionnaire of the Dead's final mission than a common village protection detail.

Aeducan paused a moment to catch a breather and to observe the situation. Cousland's assessment that the square would be an ideal last-stand was working out well, even if the single choke point that had drawn them here was turning into several choke points. They had underestimated the horde's frenzied desire to kill them and soon the barricades of debris and bodies had been torn down to unleash another avenue of torment.

Though he stands at least twenty feet away, he can feel the blaze of the grenade-induced fire through his armor, the heat a welcome ward against the chill of the mist and the night. Cousland and Leliana stand back to back, dispatching the straggling dead there. Sarim tears about their feet, knocking over and accumulating several kills to his own body count.

Alistair and three scraggly humans dressed in armor that's seen better days are in the main thoroughfare, doing their best to stem the tide and make up for Aeducan's slack.

To the left, Sten stands heads and shoulders above the horde, his swings effortless as he cuts a swath through them. Fergus is at his side. There's a flash of purple somewhere and a bear charges through, Brosca following after. They slam into a new breakthrough, throwing back the vanguard of undead that weren't expecting such a welcome.

"Morrigan's back." Aeducan commented as he rejoined the fray. Alistair doesn't bother to answer, too busy in his task of surviving.

The night wears on, the horde seemingly endless. There's too many undead now, too many avenues into the square to properly quarter it off. Aeducan swears he catches a few of the Wardens falling under the sea of bodies, but panic-filled moments later they're up once more, furious in their intent on killing the monsters before they're killed themselves. He can't think anymore about where he's thrusting, slashing, or parrying, not if he wants to live to see the dawn. A twist of the wrist and a horizontal slash that eviscerates turns into a downward thrust that shatters the clavicle and spears out through a slat in the ribcage. Combination flows into combination. His only goal is to survive and to never stop moving.

His left arm screamed in protest, the muscles shaking under the prolonged shield bearing. He can't feel below the elbow, his forearm numb from the countless blocks and slams. His sword arm felt like weighted gold. It's hard to muster up the force to follow through on a hit, even while Surana's magic hummed in his blood. Even the bloodlust of the taint has waned under the unstoppable tide crashing into them.

Then, slowly, there's less and less. The survivors aren't so pressed into the small barricaded square outside the Chantry now. They have precious seconds to recuperate before the next wave crashes down on them. Seconds become minutes. Minutes drag onward until there's a rallying cry as the golden rays of the sun crest over the village and burn away the shadows, revealing that they've lasted the night. The mist is gone, dispersed in the dawn.

Aeducan doesn't set down his sword yet. His urge to attack is thrumming like a pounding drum in his ears. He can't tell if his body is exhausted or exhilarated; if the shaking in his arm is due to a night's length of keeping aloft a shield and bearing a sword. He waited until the last possible moment when Mahariel announced what everyone hoped for: that the battle was over to find Brosca. He finds her crouched over a rather desiccated corpse, daggers buried to the hilt in its guts, and reaches out for her. They clasped arms, and he assures himself that she's relatively unharmed.

He moved on into the Chantry, grateful for the women who ladle out water for them to drink. A shock of white hair is all he can see of Surana, tucked into a nook between a pew and an alcove. She trembled from head to foot, her hands shaking too bad to bear the cup of water to lips that are cracked and parched.

"Here." He stooped down and grasped her thin hands between his own. He stilled the trembling and aided her in drinking, pulling back only when she nodded.

"Thank you," she managed, her voice hoarse from the spell casting. "Did everyone…? Did we… win?"

Aeducan straightened up to peer over the crowd. It took him a minute; every person was covered in some measure of last night's gore, but he located the rest of their company. He glanced down to Surana and nodded. "We survived."

"The villagers?" She drank a second time on her own. The shaking was still there, but it wasn't splashing the water completely out of the cup before she could sate her thirst.

"That, I do not know."

She struggled to her feet, waved off his assistance. She leaned heavily on her staff and stared past him into the sunlight of the village square. Out there, what remained of the village miltia did their best to clean up. They dragged the deceased of both sides towards the waterfront. He walked out, not checking to see if Surana followed, and watched as the dead were piled into stacks, doused with just enough oil to aid the torches in setting the piles alight. Mahariel stood watch over the process, giving Aeducan a quick nod and greeting before he went back to his morose task. Oily black smoke spilled over the surface of the lake and filled the air with the smell of a charnel house.

He walked back into the square, spotting the Cousland brothers and Alistair in deep conversation with a brown-haired man and a company of knights. From the expressions on each man's face, it didn't look like they were discussing a pleasant topic.

His attention drifted once more. Sten caught his eye and nodded in acknowledgement. Aeducan didn't approach him either; the Qunari preferred privacy and silence to idle chatter. Leliana was in the middle of a group of Chantry sisters. Surana stood nearby, still putting her full weight on her staff. The bright blue vials that she carried on her belt pouch were empty. He wondered how much lyrium she'd forced down to keep them alive last night.

Tabris was sitting on one of the porches; her arm wrapped in a blood-splattered sling and tucked up into her chest. She seemed to be people-watching, like he was. She met his gaze, but unlike Sten, she gave him a tired, but pleased smile and waved to him. He allowed himself a smile and returned the wave. Beside her, a large black wolf curled up tail to nose, chest slowly rising and falling with sleep.

He was about to go over to her when the scuffle of dirt announced that he had company. He felt Brosca stand next to him. She reeked of death and poison, but she was alive.

"After last night, I think I prefer dealing with darkspawn."

He snorted. "What the Stone were you throwing all over the place last night? I think half the fires were your doing."

"All of them were my doing, and all of them saved your pampered noble ass." She retorted. He didn't bother that with a response so she sighed and muttered that he was a tosser. "Fire bombs. Shale has this knack for finding the crystals that are lyrium-warped. Crack them just right and they'll stay potent until you upset them."

"Then boom?" He asked dryly. She swatted his arm and looked around them.

"Where is Shale?"

Aeducan frowned and looked for the golem as well. The large, foreboding silhouette wasn't anywhere in the square. He was about to suggest that they go to look for the golem when it appeared on the crest of the ridge that led up towards the castle drawbridge. Behind it ran a human woman and a guard.

The woman shouted a name, her Orlesian accent doing nothing to disguise the petulance in her voice. "Teagan!" She rushed towards the gathering of knights. Aeducan approached Shale, brow raised for answers.

"Don't ask me. The screech-owl ordered her guard to attack me, thinking I was one of the monsters unleashed from the castle. When I told it that there were other squishy humans in the village, she ordered me to lead her to them."

"You….obeyed?" He asked dubiously. Shale shrugged.

"It reminded me of a bird. I was disgusted. I followed to make sure she does not shapechange like the swamp witch. I do not need another bird in our company."

"I see." With the arrival of the woman, the conversation the Couslands were having seemed to have turned for the worse. Their expressions were dark and they kept glaring from the woman to the castle. It looked several choice words from a shouting match. He exchanged a look with Brosca, who appeared more fascinated by the rising tension than worried, and then headed towards the group.

"What's going on?" He asked Alistair. Alistair turned his glare from the woman to Aeducan. "That's Arlessa Isolde, Arl Eamon's wife." He said the word wife as if she was little better than a noble-hunter. "Something's wrong with Connor and the castle and she's convinced Bann Teagan to accompany her back there."

"Back into the castle?" Aeducan frowned. "Where the dead came from? And who is Connor?"

"My nephew," Bann Teagan bows quickly to Aeducan. "Forgive me, but if he is in danger, then I must do all that I can to protect him."

"Include stumbling into a trap?" Fergus folds his arms. His eyes are hard as he stared down Isolde, who bristled at the accusation.

"I would never hurt my husband's brother!" She snapped, eyes flashing with anger.

"Then allow us all to accompany you to the castle. If your son is indeed in danger, then a company of fighting soldiers will be better than one man."

"You already protected the village. You fought all through the night and I cannot ask you to accompany me into potential danger. I am sorry."

Aeducan shook his head. The man was the type of noble that died quickly in Orzammar. Loyal, noble, true, and honest. He would have never seen a seat of power before a scheming sibling or rival House killed him. Aeducan did his best not to let that thought process continue. Barely months past and he still couldn't face down the betrayal of his own brother. "You are acting the fool." He stated simply, no inflection to his words.

Bann Teagan saw through the statement to what Aeducan really meant and nodded in agreement. "My choice is final. I will return to the castle alone with Isolde to help my nephew. Ser Perth here will assist you in my absence." He turned and clasped Alistair's shoulder, nodded to the Cousland brothers, and then set off towards the castle, Lady Isolde and the bodyguard in his wake.

* * *

**A/N: Action-orientated scenes aren't my forte, I'm afraid and so this chapter was a struggle. Thanks to Lehni for pointing out Shale's gender in the last chapter. They haven't done her quest yet, so I think that was more author knowledge slipping into character knowledge, heh. Next chapter's going to see the party split up as I tackle the Mage Tower section of the game. Fade dreams, unwelcomed temptations, and forbidden knowledge for all! Yay!**

**To everyone who has reviewed: thank you. A dozen times over.**


	20. Brosca: Windmill

Brosca: Windmill

Brosca lounged against an overturned barricade. She held a simple iron dagger in her hand, twirling the blade over and over in her palms while she did her best to not look like she was listening on the band of nobles being, well, nobles. If there was one thing she learned during the years of crawling through the filth of Dust Town was that nobles had a way of messing a situation up beyond complete repair simply by muttering the word 'honor'.

'Honor' demanded this, 'honor' commanded that. For all Brosca knew of the word, it wasn't worth a nug's weight in copper. To a dwarf, honor meant throwing your child into the chains of the casteless because they weren't born of your sex. To a dwarf, honor meant throwing warriors against one another in a Proving Match to avenge a slight against your person.

Brosca felt that a noble's honor could go plough itself for all she cared, but as they were led by a company of nobles, exiled or not, honor dictated what they'd do. She glanced up as footsteps crunched over the ground, then to the Wardens. No one looked pleased, but they all looked resolute.

"Sod this." She tossed the dagger blade first into the dirt and pushed off to stalk towards the men. They were talking amongst themselves, concerned that without Bann Teagan's presence; the militia wouldn't have the staying power to last another night.

Alistair scowled. "This is their home; of course they'll fight with us!" He spread his arm, encompassing the majority of the villagers around them. "What else could they do?"

"Survive." Brosca jumped in, startling them. "What I'd do. Grab whatever I could sell later on and get out of this hellhole before night fell. After all, Captain Noble just bailed on them, why shouldn't they bail on them?"

"Bann Teagan went into the castle to help his nephew." Cousland explained, slow and patiently like she'd been born yesterday.

She glared his way but addressed Alistair. "Captain Noble just charged up, alone, into the castle where the dead things came from. You really think he'll come back?"

Alistair stammered a no while he shook his head. He began to launch into excuses, but she held up a hand. He went quiet. That was one thing she liked about him. Out of the humans, he knew that he wasn't a leader and shut up when time came for it. He'd have made a decent underling in the Carta. Brosca used her peripheralvision to look at Aeducan. He appeared passive, but interested in what she had to say.

Brosca twisted around to stare up the way to the castle. "So, we agree on the odds being that he'll not be coming back, either willing or not willing." She waited for them to nod. "So, again, with him gone, the milita isn't going to have some charismatic noble whipping them up into a suicidal frenzy so they'll charge out and risk their necks. Without him, all you have is a handful of warriors and less than a third of a village full of peasants. "

"Wouldn't you want to die to protect your home?" Fergus asked, but unlike his brother, his question was without inflection or judgment. It was simple curiosity. Brosca knew who had been expected to take over in that household.

"Didn't have a home. Had a house. And a carta willing to sell me out as soon as the going went tough." She shrugs plainly. "Figure a human peasant ain't got it much better than a casteless; they'll probably see sense in fleeing too."

"That would be an acceptable solution," Aeducan finally spoke. She sensed the 'but' in his words. Unlike Cousland, where she bristled under the man's half-hearted attempts to lead, she waited for Aeducan to resume speaking. "However, the passes to Orlais and the Dales, which would quite possibly be the best routes to flee the Blight as I'm sure it's reached Lothering by now will be closing soon. They'll never make it before the first snows block the passes."

Brosca shrugged. That wasn't something she could help with.

"If what Aedan and Fergus say is true, and this Arl Eamon has the potential to raise the army that we'll need to counteract the Blight, then it is in our best interest to aid his villagers. Honor would command that he would."

Brosca opened her mouth to retort, but saw that Aeducan's words rang true for the humans. She settled for a scowl instead.

"Regardless of one's personal views toward the situation, the end result is that it's pragmatic for us to solve this dilemma. Save the village to secure an army."

"Are we sure this Arl Eamon has the manpower to be of any use to us?"

Cousland answered that. "Yes. At the very least, it's five thousand strong. It was being prepared to march towards Ostagar not soon after we stopped in. Far as I recall, Eamon's forces never set on the march to Ostagar. He wasn't due for another few weeks."

"Fine." Brosca threw up her hands. "How you going to go about saving the village then, huh? We ain't gonna survive another night like we did. You heard the milita. The horde gets bigger every night. We barely made it through one that size!"

"That's simple enough. We go directly to the source." Aeducan turned and stared up at the castle tucked onto the Cliffside.

"The castle?" Brosca asked, disbelief evident.

"The castle."

* * *

"Hey." Brosca greeted. She chuckled as Tabris jerked upright, ears twitching and her good hand falling onto her dagger. "Relax. Just me."

Tabris slumped and gave her an apologetic look. "Sorry. Guess I'm still jumpy from everything that happened and now that I'm walking around shemlen with a weapon fully in view and I've got an arm broken and it's all just really playing havoc with my nerves because I don't think I can sleep. And I've tried."

Brosca laughed again. "Don't need to explain it to me. Surana look at your arm yet?" She jerked her chin to the appendage. Tabris shook her head. "She's going to need to soon, the boys want to barge into the castle."

"Didn't have the time before the uglies were on you guys. You know how long it takes to mend broken bones. 'sides, she was needed keeping you guys safe."

"So…?"

"So I grabbed a crossbow, braced it against the railing, and spent the night learning how to shoot the damned thing without turning it into friendly fire." Tabris shrugged with one shoulder.

"Can't Morrigan heal it?" Brosca assumed the slumbering wolf was the shapechanging witch.

"You didn't see the big bear crushing the undead with her paws?" Tabris canted her head. Brosca grinned and shrugged.

"Too busy making the things explode."

"Oh. Well. You know that Surana's magic isn't flashy. She can just chant under her breath and it all looks like a coincidence, yeah?"

"Sure. She's subtle."

"Yeah, see Morrigan follows your viewpoint. Lightning, fire, frost, body parts exploding, bigger fire, more exploding bodies." Tabris ticked them off on her fingers. "Blight or not, she can't use her magic openly around folks we can't trust to keep the secret. So she went 'grr!' instead. Besides, from where I was, it looked too cramped to fling off a spell without catching one of you guys instead. Although… knowing Morrigan, I think that might not have actually been a point of caution." Tabris peered down at the wolf.

Brosca thought back to the overturned wagon nearly crashing onto Leliana and shrugged again. "Yeah. Point made. Doesn't explain the fluffiness, though." At that, the wolf's ears flattened; giving away Morrigan's alert state.

"Conservation of magic. I've read that it's easier on the mage's reserves to remain in a shape." Surana sat on the opposite side of Tabris, leaning heavily on her staff. Behind her trailed Leliana, who carried a small pot of something that smelled wonderful. When she ladled it out into bowls, Brosca ate greedily. The girls surrounded the wolf, blocking it from any observers as Morrigan slowly faded into her natural shape. Leliana held out the witch's customary clothes. After Morrigan was dressed, she took the final bowl from the chantry sister and ate her own share.

After they finished, Leliana stared over to where the men were. Mahariel had joined them. He stood aloof from the cluster, arms folded and eyes narrowed as he took in the conversation. The redhead frowned. "What are they talking about?"

Brosca followed her gaze. "Them? How to get into the castle to save the day."

Morrigan snorted. "Fools." She caught the disapproving glances that Surana and Leliana were giving her and scowled darkly. "Do not stare at me so; t'would be far more appropriate for us to quickly leave this place before we're surrounded by even more corpse-ridden come nightfall. "

"That's what I tried to tell 'em," Brosca ripped off a chunk of slightly-stale bread and swirled it in the bottom of her bowl, trying to mop up the reminder of the stew with it. "Aeducan gave pretty good reason to try and find a way inside though."

"Oh? Do tell."

"According to how he sees it: we scratch their back, they'll scratch ours. We save their asses here; they're going to have to help us when we wrap up the treaty talks."

"You assume they will keep their end of the bargain." Morrigan pointed out. It wasn't disdainful, but Brosca sensed the disapproval there.

"See, unlike those of us who actually had to survive what life threw at us, nobles live on something they like to call honor. They fight to earn it, fight to defend it, and when it's called out, they have to comply with what they think it demands of them. Without it, they think that their life is worthless. Trust me, Aeducan's right. We work to their sense of honor, we have them by the short-hairs and they have to return the favor."

Leliana looked like she wanted to say something but Brosca pointed her spoon at the chantry sister and shook her head.

"Nu-huh. Nothing from you Miss 'Love, Honor, and Righteousness rule the day'. Save that for camp when I need to fall asleep quickly." Brosca didn't add that she enjoyed Leliana's fireside stories, but she had a reputation to uphold.

"Don't listen to Natia," Surana assured Leliana. "I enjoy hearing the tales."

"Me too," Tabris piped up.

"Thank you." Leliana said primly, but the smile tugging at her lips revleaed that she wasn't too put off by Brosca's comments. "So, while we wait for the men folk, I think we should teach you, Natia, how to be a little more sneaky."

"Hey!" Brosca protested. "I'm just fine!"

"Natia, you charge in like a crazed warhorse. You are very skilled with your blades, but you draw too much attention to yourself, and unlike our dear warriors, you aren't really geared to take in such attention, no?"

Brosca frowned, but knew Leliana had a point. Her time with the Carta had been more about trap-making, lock-picking, and intimidating rather than anything that dealt with sneaking around. When the Carta wanted to make a statement, it trashed a merchant's stall or stood up a foolish caste walking alone with no guards in sight. It didn't deal with subtle maneuvers; life was too short and too fast-paced down in Orzammar for that.

"Besides, while you two are practicing, I can have a look at Kallian's arm. If it's a clean break, I can probably mend it without too much fuss."

Brosca looked between them, then to the men. "Nug-piss, why not? It'll pass the time until they get their act together. I'm no sneak, but even I know that charging straight up to the castle will probably get us shot."

"Not if they have Kallian's aim." Morrigan noted as she gracefully stepped off the porch to follow Leliana.

* * *

Leliana directed them up to the battered windmill at the edge of the northern path. Inside it was dusty, and smelled of grain long since left for the vermin to feast upon. Cobwebs filled up many of the nooks and were draped amongst the beams. The place looked abandoned.

Surana, Tabris, and Morrigan took seats where they could clear off room while Brosca and Leliana settled into a lesson in futility. Where Leliana preached patience and subtly, Brosca fought for impulsiveness and force. It didn't help that Tabris uncovered some old love letters that had Surana blushing, Leliana giggling, Brosca wondering how someone could even bend that way, and Morrigan occasionally inserting her own running commentary. Pretty soon, the girls were doubled with laughter as they each read aloud a letter, trying their best to put on a mockery of what they assumed the writers would sound like.

They were loud enough to draw the attention of the other Wardens, the door slamming against the inner wall with a thud as Alistair charged in, sword raised, looking for the source of the howling noise. The rest of the wardens peeked around him. The sight only sent the girls into another laughing fit, Brosca stumbling to right herself. She heard the creak of rotting wood a moment before her mind registered what that sound portrayed. The floor went out from under her as she disappeared from view.

"I remember where that secret tunnel into the castle is!" Alistair exclaimed gleefully, poking his head down the open shaft to grin at her. "Thanks Brosca!"

* * *

**A/N: **I know, it's shocking. An update so soon? I bet you're wondering if it's been a month yet. I promise you it hasn't. Beyond my thanks for reading, I don't have much to say in this update ... except for the PMs about who you wish to see Alistair get with. Like I said in the beginning of the story, folks, there isn't an Alistair romance with any of the Origins. He's actually one of my least favorite character of the game. I don't hate him, but not understanding the fan-hype about him one bit.

Personal preferences aside, though, I hope that doesn't throw off the Alistair fans reading this story. I promise to never bash the character, and will do my best to write him well.


	21. Cousland: Dungeon

**Cousland – Dungeons**

"So, you're really going to do this." Fergus' tone crossed between astonished disbelief and bewildered amusement. There wasn't even a question involved, just a smug older brother look that Cousland had grown to dislike after twenty years of looking at it.

"Yes." His tone is clipped. Even. If he doesn't rise to Fergus' bait, he wins. He leaned around his brother to catch Alistair's eye. "We're heading out as soon as Brosca gives the 'ok'. Tell the girls?"

"You got it." Alistair gave a nod and hustled around the side of the windmill to where Morrigan and Surana had set up a makeshift milling station. None of them knew what lay in the tunnels underneath the lake or what exactly was going on in the castle itself. They'd be cut off from any aid from Ser Perth's knights until the gates were thrown open and Surana's healing capabilities only went so far. The poultices that they crafted would ensure that what Surana could spare wasn't wasted on an injury better served with a bandage .

"I have a question for you, brother." Fergus stepped closer once Alistair was out of hearing range; and his voice dropped so any potential eavesdroppers would require some effort to listen in. "Does Alistair remind you of anyone?"

Cousland frowned. "No? Why? Should he?"

Fergus shrugged and handed over a dagger to replace the blade that snapped in the jaws of one of the undead creatures the night before. "I'm not sure." He looked up again and the gaze offered Cousland's way was one born of feigned dismissal. "Forget I said anything."

"Hardly." Cousland couldn't say more; Brosca's voice could be heard from the tunnel. He shouldered the pack and fixed Fergus with his best noble stare. "We will talk after the castle."

"Yes," Fergus' murmured, eyes on Alistair as he reappeared. "We will." With that enigmatic statement, he bid them safe journey and hustled to meet with the gathering of knights further down the hill. He tossed one look over his shoulder at the Wardens before engaging Ser Perth in discussion, heads bent low as they planned out the attack regardless of if the Wardens could throw open the gates or not.

Cousland watched him until Brosca's dark face poked up from the tunnel, scowl and all. She hopped out of the entrance and brushed cobwebs off her leather as she stepped out into the sunlight. "It's passable."

"Passable?" Alistair frowned. "What does passable mean?"

Brosca pointed at Shale, then Sten. "They'll have to wait with the knights. Shale's too big—"  
"I beg your pardon."

"And Sten's too thick in the torso; they won't make it through some of the narrow parts," Brosca continued right on past Shale' indignation. "I think Aedan and Alistair can make it. Duran will have a tight squeeze but he's dwarva, he'll manage." She gave the elves a few glance overs. "The elves are scrawny enough that it doesn't matter and Morrigan can just shape-shift into her spider form."

"Ew." Tabris crinkled her nose, prompting the witch to give her a look. "What? I don't like giant spiders ok?"

"Fine then," Morrigan sniffed. "See if I rescue you from the crumbling cellars of a madman's workshop ever again." She stepped forward and took the smaller pack Cousland had made up for her. In exchange, she handed over the few poultices that her and Surana managed to make. At his disappointed expression, she shook her head. "We don't exactly spend the days out gathering, and with how you and Alistair become bleeding hearts concerning pretty barmaids, we don't have the silver to fill our stock."

"That silver was from when I left Highever. I can spend it how I please, when I please without your disapproval, Morrigan."

She merely sniffed in response.

"You guys done yammering so I can show us the way?" Brosca rolled out one of the empty grain packs and plucked up some charcoal from the previous night's fires. She licked the tip of the piece with her tongue and proceeded to sketch out a crude rendition of her scouting results. "I think your Arl's escape tunnel either uses a closed off Road, or his ancestors had dwarva aid. Ain't no way a surface dweller managed this route without causing a cave-in."

She circled a few places. "There's bottlenecks here, here, and here. Probably to make sure you just can't send in an army after whoever's fleeing down the tunnel and a little over halfway through there's a door like what the dwarva use. I'd bet you a night's rations that's where the ring comes into play."

"Wonder how old the tunnels are, then." Alistair popped up on Cousland's right side. "I spent days down there as a child and never considered it was anything else than old stonework. Weird stonework, mind you." He caught Cousland's look. "What?"

"You grew up here?" Cousland frowned. "How do I not know you then?"

Alistair blinked. The realization that he'd said something he probably wished kept secret washed over his features like the oncoming tide. "Did I say I grew up here? I meant I threw up here. In the tavern. That ale is horrid, I wouldn't sell it for a copper."

"Alistair." Cousland said, trying his best to use the infliction Fergus would use to calm him down. "We're blood brothers within the Wardens, right?" He nodded when Alistair nodded," and I'm sure no one else here is going to lord anything over you—"

"Speak for yourself," Brosca snorted.

"-Nadia doesn't count."

Alistair looked 'round at all of them. "Yeah, you're right. Ok." He took a breath and then launched into a rapidfire explaination that left most of them staring blankly at him. Morrigan looked bored, but that was her normal expression these days.

"Say again? But, uh, slower."

"Right." Alistair shifted his stance. "Just, don't hold it against me. I wanted to be a nobody as long as possible." He folded his arms, then unfolded them and Cousland was struck by the sudden realization that Alistair probably wasn't much older than Kallian, their youngest member. That was a sudden blow and when he stared at the senior Grey Warden, Alistair appeared in a different light.

"I'm going to hold the suspense against you!" Leliana teased, but Cousland could see the same revelation in her eyes as what just occurred for himself.

"I'm a bastard. I told you already in camp but my Dad wasn't just some soldier who stayed in my mom's bedchambers for a night. He was King Maric. I'm Maric's son and Cailan's half-brother… I suppose."

The Wardens were quiet after that. Alistair stared at each of them, trying to gauge their reactions until Brosca broke the growing tension. "So you're not just a bastard … but a royal one at that?"  
"Hah, never thought of it that way. Guess I am!" Alistair's smile was wane, but the relief was evident in his eyes. "Seriously though, just … it doesn't matter, all right? I was told from a very young age that I shouldn't go looking for armies to rally to my banner and somesuch like that."  
"Does that make you the heir?" Aeducan lifted his attention from the sketch Brosca made. "In dwarva custom, you would be one of the considerations by the assembly."

"What?!" Alistair became even paler. "No. No! Look, if there is a rightful heir, it's Arl Eamon. He's Calian's uncle and the people respect him and –"

"He's ill, or possibly dead." Cousland cut in.

"Maker, you're right. Oh, this isn't good. This… can we just go now?" Alistair was as white as a bed sheet now. His gaze was frantic as it darted from Cousland, to Aeducan, to the girls who stared curiously back at him.

Sten drew Cousland's attention by picking up the final pack. "As Brosca said, Shale and I will stand with the knights. Do not make us wait long."

There was one final round of preparation before Brosca rolled up the makeshift map and the Wardens chosen to head below the windmill into the tunnels departed. The mood was somber due to the unknown that laid before them. Brosca said the tunnels were empty but that meant little if the menace affecting the village was a bunch of spirits crossing the Veil to inhabit the bodies of the dead. Morrigan mentioned that if this was truly autonomous, not the work of a mage, then the Veil was dangerously weak and there could be another outbreak any moment.  
The thought did not sit well with Cousland.

Down the makeshift ladder and through the first archway of the tunnel they went. Brosca had taken her scouting time to light the lanterns that hung from the rough-hewn walls and the caverns were washed in the pale orange that flickered with the weak draft that followed them from above. The walk was uneventful, if a little unnerving for the tunnel quickly turned into a staircase cut into the rock that held a steepness that made even Mahariel wary with his graceful step. Brosca and Aeducan seemed at home; the tension of constantly being underneath an open sky gone from their shoulders. They could hear the faint rush of water somewhere beyond the layer of stone that kept them from being crushed at the bottom of the lake and even the whispered bickering of Morrigan and Alistair died down in light of the perilous darkness stretched before them.

Cousland's hand shifted over his sword for comfort. He knew the blade would give none but what else had he down here in the dark? For the past few weeks he had come to trust Brosca but that seemed pale when placed next to the absolution he had to grant now. One wrong turn from her and the tunnel could become a tomb. He never voiced his opinion on how the escape tunnel could effectively be used as a last-ditch attempt to gain some upper-hand over a would-be attacker, but he figured the thought formed in everyone's mind from the heavy silence.

"Here." Brosca held up her torch to the wall ahead of them and it took Cousland a second to make out the narrow fissure that the torchlight didn't illuminate. The rogue had been correct to suggest Sten and Shale remain behind with the knights. There was no way they could shoulder through, and even he was giving the rock a dubious study, wondering if his shoulders could fit, even if he went sideways.

"Nadia, you head through first. Then the elves, then Morrigan and Leliana. Alistair and Aedean next, then I'll bring up the rear. If there's complications I can shoulder someone through." Aeducan looked up to him first, Cousland being the tallest of the Wardens down there. "If Brosca says you can fit, you'll fit."

Assurance from a dwarf who had spent their life living within the claustrophobic tunnels of the underground roads was not the type of assurance that bolstered Cousland's spirits and allowed him the courage to bluster through. What did have that strength, though, was the fact that if he balked now, his pride would be damaged before the others.

So, he merely nodded. He unsheathed the greatsword; the weight bearing down hard on the muscles of his arm, and held the sword sideways. It would add inches to his profile if he kept it covered and with it out, he felt a little more in control of the situation.

Brosca disappeared through the fissure first. The reflection of the torch she held faded quick, and left the rest of them in an uneasy darkness. The blue glow of Surana's staff blinded him when she moved forward at Brosca's muffled affirmation that it was safe to follow.

Mahariel was directly behind her. His footsteps were silent and he was a shadow fading into black as he moved through. Next went Tabris, who was slender enough that she could walk into the fissure somewhat normally, using her hands as rough guidelines for where to step. Morrigan went after her, her golden eyes luminous in the little light that reached them. Leliana, then, and finally Alistair. The templar muttered under his breath as he pressed his hands hard against one wall and shimmied through.

Then it was Cousland's turn. Sarim whined behind him. Somewhere in the distance, he swore he heard something skittering. Something terrible just waiting and biding time until he was unable to flee.

"We are brothers in blood." Aeducan's gruff voice echoed in the tunnel. He repeated the words Cousland had spoken to Alistair to have the templar trust them with his greatest secret. "You will come out unharmed on the other side."

Cousland's pulse thundered in his ears. He took that first step.

The stone scraped against the cloth that covered the chainmail shirt he wore, catching at the fabric. He imagined it was hands grasped out into the shape of claws to hook him in place. His breath was hot against his face. He could not see and every step sideways that did not bring light and freedom was another stab of nervousness that wound like a tightening noose about his neck. He stumbled over loose rock. He gashed his palm against jagged stone and felt the stinging pain ascend up his wrist.

He stepped sideways a final time and half-stumbled into Alistair who easily caught him. His sword's clatter onto the floor jolted him out of his nerves and when Aeducan patted his upper arm as the dwarf passed by, Cousland finally found the ability to take in a deep breath.

"Stone, it really is a Deep Road." Brosca hefted the torch high enough to reflect images and symbols that meant nothing to Cousland but apparently everything to the two dwarves. "The humans must have just cut their way through - made a new crossroad."

Aeducan frowned and turned to stare down into darkness that swallowed up the tunnel on all sides of their party save for the fissure right behind them. "Can darkspawn weaken the veil?" He asked of Morrigan and Surana.

Morrigan shook her head. In the torchlight, she bore the expression of unease with their current situation. Cousland figured that was what he looked like if they were to gaze his way. "Nothing that I have read or studied suggests such a thing. It is abominations and magic that wears down a groove in the worlds that spirits and demons can then use like a game trail through the wilds."

Aeducan's unease is not the same as the humans', but he wore it all the same. His shield and sword are brought to ready. "We keep moving. This section of the Deep Roads has not seen dwarva presence in a very long age. I do not want to face the undead and a darkspawn patrol at the same time."

Leliana shivered, her blue eyes upon the very darkness Aeducan had studied. "Agreed. It can't be too much further, can it?"

That question lingered between them as they crossed over the uneven road and to the other side, where Brosca said that the stone was different. It was not cut by dwarva craftsmen, she explains but by human hands. There's a smug overtone in her voice that prompted a dirty look from Cousland, but otherwise she seemed to be knowledgeable about the subject.

Sure enough, even Cousland could tell that they were in the castle itself. The walls were natural stone, but cut with chisel and hammer. The tunnel rose up again, turning into a second steep staircase that dead-ended before a heavy grate, the metal rusted with age and exposure. It took Cousland, Alistair, and Aeducan to lift it, and though they tried to keep quiet, the grate protested the entire way, groaning and whining loud enough that Cousland feared the entire castle heard their arrival.

"Creators..."

Mahariel's whisper had him turned around to see what called for the normally stoic Dalish to let loose an involuntary reaction. Cousland's own reaction was more visceral. Ostagar was far enough back now that to look on that night's events was more like looking on a terrible memory. They had fought off bandits since, and the darkspawn when they found Shale. There was the battle last night, but this...

This was a massacre that shoved him straight from Ostagar and Grey Wardens to the sight of Oren sprawled broken on the floor, his mother's body still warm as she died in vain to protect him from the hacking blows that had severed them from their lives.

He turned again and retched. His stomach churned and his body trembled under the weight of the parallels. He did not see the emblazon of House Guerrin, the red tower upon the white background. He saw the green laurel upon the blue field. He hunched into that grate and used the heavy metal to support him when his body refused to support itself.

When the past left him and his awareness returned to the present, there was a waterskin offered his way, backed up by the soft glow of Surana's staff and the soothing compassion within her gaze. He took it with wordless thanks.

The others had given him a modicum of privacy, spread out in the dungeons. Mahariel was checking the bodies that littered the floor like fallen leaves. Behind him, Alistair and Aeducan were dragging them to a central pile where Tabris and Leliana were setting up kindling. Brosca and Morrigan were tasked with the lighting of the pyre. No one looked thrilled with their jobs.

Tabris' eyes kept jumping to the elves thrown in with the human dead. Her gaze lingered on their skulls, and that there was only severed tissue where ears should have been.

Mahariel stepped into the room, his expression just barely containing the fury Cousland could sense underneath the Dalish' composure. It matched his own. It matched all of theirs. When he had told Alistair they were now brothers by blood, he had not expected it to take hold as truth so quickly. The taint rolled along their veins, stirred their dark passions, and underneath his own growing hatred at this situation, he could feel the echoes of the others. Only Alistair was distant. The song of his taint a subdued dissonance.

He had not drank of the same cup as them. He was more a cousin by the blood if Cousland lingered on the philosophy of their situation for too long.

"What is it?" Leliana wiped the back of her hand over her forehead, leaving a smear of grime to take the place of the sweat.

"Live one. He is not an abomination or a corpse." Mahariel's stare pierced Surana in place by Cousland. "He wore the style of robes that you did when we first met."

"A survivor of Ostagar?" Surana mused and Cousland could see the hope sparked in her eyes. True to her healer nature, she looked to him for permission. Was he well enough that she could step away?

He nodded. He watched her go, then watched Mahariel turn and follow to offer protection.

Morrigan's nose wrinkled as the smell of burnt flesh overwhelmed the room. It was her magic that kept the fire contained. "T'is not a sign of things going well in the castle."

"I know Morrigan." Cousland bent over a body not yet thrown on the pyre. "Arlessa Isolde came from here. She had guards. There is obviously still a living presence within this place."

"Is it the sort of living we're gonna want to speak with, though?" Brosca inquired. "That's the real question we're gonna want to find answer to."

"How about we start thinking positive thoughts, yeah?" Alistair's voice is wane, but with the steel of indignation. "Case you forgot, Nadia, I used to live here."

Brosca opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. "Yeah. My mistake. Sorry, Alistair."

"It's -"

Surana's shout cut off Alistair's reply. Weapons were unsheathed and the seven of them rushed through where Mahariel took their healer. They rounded the corner and stumbled over the bodies not yet removed. Sarim growled; stalking forward to bring down whatever was bringing distress to one of the Wardens. Up ahead, Cousland spotted Mahariel against the wooden frame between sections of the dungeons. He leant against it like it was a tree in the forest. His stance was relaxed, but his gaze was alert.

"What is it?" Alistair reached him first.

Mahariel pointed, and when Cousland moved to gain insight on where the Dalish was pointing, he found Surana flush against the bars of a cell, her arm groping wildly within. Her face was a twist of rage and desperation, her hand curled into a claw.

"How dare you blame that on me!" Surana's voice was cracked, high-pitched and hoarse from the tone she used. Her white hair, plastered to her scalp, shone brilliant blue and green from the wisp that swooped around her. "You put yourself here Jowan!"

"Does she... know him?" Cousland asked of Mahariel.

"It appears that they were once apprentices together." He replied.

"Not just apprentices." Surana noticed them. She stopped trying to snag whoever Jowan was and whirled about to face her fellow wardens. Tears streaked in the dirt over her face. "He was my family in the tower. We did everything together and then he betrayed me and sent me to Ostagar!"

"I didn't have a choice!" A man shouts from the back corner of the cell. Cousland stepped ahead, taking the torch from Brosca. He thrust it forward to reveal a man who had definitely not seen the outdoors in at least a week, maybe longer. He was sallow and his robes hung off of him from being caked in dirt and grime. His hair was dark and matted, but in his eyes was the same sort of gleam that he caught shimmering between Morrigan and Surana whenever they underwent a ritual.

"You had a choice." Surana returned to glowering at him. "You could have not been Maleficarum! You could have been honest with me. I lost everything because I trusted you." Her voice cracked a second time.

"Wait." Alistair moved up now. "He's a Blood Mage?"

"I only dabbled in it." Jowan protested the title thrust upon him. "I had to. I had to try something to show them that I could have just as much chance at surviving the Harrowing as Neria."

"No." Surana's voice drops to a cold, flat monotone. "Don't you dare. You turned to Blood Magic because you wanted power. You sacrificed Lily and you sacrificed me. For what, Jowan? For this?" She waved her hand in the air. "This is what Blood Magic brings!"

"He did this?" Brosca asked, eyes widening.

"No!" Jowan threw himself at the bars. This time, he snatched for Surana. He brought them close, close enough that their foreheads pressed together between the iron bars on either side. "No. Neria. No. Please. You have to believe me. I did not do this. I swear."

Surana tried to free herself from his grip. It took Mahariel and Tabris to wrench her back, and only because Tabris had shoved a dagger underneath Jowan's throat. "I believed you once. You can't ask me to believe in you a second time."

Jowan made a sound that was a snarl of frustration and a whining cry. "I get that! I get it. I do. Neria. Listen to me. I. Did. Not. Do. This. I swear upon everything we once were. I was here because of the Arlessa. Ok? She employed me, in secret-"

"Why?" Surana asked.

"Her son. Conner."

"What about Conner?" Alistair was now right there at the bars. His presence, combined with Tabris' dagger and the glares of the other wardens had Jowan stepping back.

"I was tutoring him. He showed signs of potential for magic and the Arlessa did not want to send him to the tower."

"I don't believe you." Surana shook her head. Her expression hardened and the air became hard to breathe. Not impossible, it felt like he had climbed a mountain and was winded. Morrigan looked affected, though. She stepped away from Surana like the healer had burned her. In the cell, Jowan collapsed to his knees.

"Neria! I've done terrible things. I... look. I was the one that poisoned the Arl. Arl Howe came by and ...caught me. He knew who I was because of the missive Gregoire sent out and offered to look the other way if I did one job for him. Just one. I wasn't supposed to kill the Arl, just …"

"Let him rot away like a vegetable while his castle descended into hell?" Alistair's voice matched Surana's now.

"I … no. This was not part of that plan. I … Conner thought I could help his Dad and the Arlessa thought, correctly, that I was behind the poisoning. I don't know how she figured it out, but she locked me up and forbid Conner from speaking with me. I think … I think this is Conner's doing."

"Now you're blaming this on a little boy?!" Surana laughed. It was a bitter, terrible sound. "First, it is somehow my fault that you dabble in blood magic and now... now you accuse a little boy-"

"I'm not lying!" Jowan rushed the bars again. "Neria-" He cut off, his attention averted over her shoulder, past all of them. "Oh... Oh Maker, no."

Cousland turned around to see Bann Teagan walk off the last step from the upward spiral staircase. Behind him were five knights and two crossbowmen. When they spotted the Wardens, weapons came up. On both sides.

"Teagan?" Cousland's wary question only added to the growing tension.

"Intruders in the dungeons." Teagan canted his head to the right. "Restrain them and bring them before the Arl."

* * *

A/N: I'm going to try and desperately ignore the fact that it's been almost two years since I last updated. Wow. Yeah. Ok. If you are a reader from back then that's sticking with me now, I say "Thank you" and to each of you that reviewed and P'd me asking for the update, I say "thank you very, very much.


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